


Worlds That Never Were

by the_diggler



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - Mutants, Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Bottom Castiel, Community: deancasbigbang, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge 2014, Dystopia, F/M, M/M, Minor het, Non-Linear Narrative, POV Alternating, Parallel Universes, Prostitution, Romance, Science Fiction, Sexual Content, Wing Kink, multiple character deaths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-07
Updated: 2014-10-08
Packaged: 2018-02-16 21:06:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 29,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2284455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_diggler/pseuds/the_diggler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dean loses everyone he's ever known and loved in the Mutant war between Michael and Lucifer, he finds himself in a parallel universe, where his loved ones are alive, but the world is much, much worse. What happened to make the Castiel of this world so different? Did he ever love Dean at all? And can Dean find what they once had again?</p>
<p>
  <img/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> ETA DEC 13 '15: I'm planning to take another pass at this fic sometime soon and possibly add more scenes (and more smut heh) that I've always wanted in the story but couldn't manage when I first wrote it. I'd hoped to get to it a lot sooner, but at this rate I'm aiming for sometime before the next X-men movie comes out :s

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is VERY loosely inspired by themes from the X-men, with some ideas from the original Heroes series. It's more like an homage to some of my favorite seasons and Dean/Cas moments from the show :) The awesome art and graphics are all by the wonderful and amazing Heather! Please let her know if you like them, our masterposts can be found through the DCBB community here!
> 
> **ETA** : I'm currently working on adding some scenes to this fic, so I recommend waiting for the updates before reading. After a year, there are still some scenes I wish I'd included in this story, so I figured I might as well :)

"Don't talk of worlds that never were  
The end is all that's ever true"  
from 'Burn' by The Cure

  
  
 _There is a kiss, the kind of which is so profound, that it can change the entire course of your existence. For it is so powerful, that when it happens, all else fades away – time, space, the Universe and everything you think you know about the world you live in. So perfect, that not only does it steal your breath away, but your heart, your mind, your very soul – all are lost to it. Its purity strips away all walls and defences, all lies and facades, all fear and anger and pain, until only truth remains – the essence of who you are and the certainty of knowing. And in this truth there is freedom to be found, joy in sharing it completely with another, and the bliss of becoming more, together._   
  
_It is the kind of kiss that is worth waiting lifetimes for – and if ever it is lost – worth spending lifetimes searching for it, over and over again, to find it once more._

  
  
A deathly stillness hangs over the streets of Kansas City, the pavements eerily silent, devoid of any movement or signs of life. It’s as if the buildings themselves are holding their breath, awaiting the outcome of events taking placing in a cemetery not far away. Events that may decide the future of all mutant and human kind alike.  
  
An ominous rattle approaches from a distance – the bounce and roll of an empty can down a sidewalk. A whisper of a wind chases it, lifting the corners of loose trash and paper from the ground, almost light enough to be mistaken for a breeze, but for the weight of power it seems to carry, slowly thickening the air. Then suddenly, light and air and movement explode into the night, like a great whooshing exhale, and two men appear in an alley, out of nowhere, collapsing against its walls for support.  
  
For a split second, the shadow of a large pair of wings is illuminated against the alley walls, torn and damaged, in some places nothing but bone without feather – but only for as long as the brief flash of light that heralded the two men’s entrance. The slow stirrings of the winds that came before them keep building though, surely and dangerously, until it’s not just scattered trash that’s shaken loose, but the very fixtures themselves, clattering against their hinges as the ground begins to rumble beneath them.  
  
“I can’t go any further,” the trenchcoated man gasps. “Dean, we must run!”  
  
Dean nods numbly in response, slinging the man’s arm over his shoulder as they lurch out of the alley together.  
  
“They’re gone, Cas. They’re all gone,” he chokes brokenly as they stumble down the street together. “Bobby, Adam…” he trails off, clutching onto Cas for support, where a moment before he had been providing it. They both know that list of names is longer. Much longer. And they both know how that list ends.  
  
That’s when the sky fills with light again, exploding through the night with a big bang, and the two men turn towards the source to see a giant column of incandescent white shooting up into the sky behind them.  
  
“… Sam!” Dean sobs, collapsing to his knees. Horror, grief, and fathomless despair wash over both men, every terrible emotion illuminated on their faces in the bright night. But as the column of light begins to expand, a grim resignation finds its way to only one.  
  
“Dean.” Cas reaches out, gripping Dean’s shoulder, but Dean doesn’t reply, clenching his fists in anguish as he watches the column of light.  
  
Cas falls to his knees, reaching out to cup Dean’s face in his hands and _forcing_ Dean to look at him.  
  
“Dean,” he says again, urgently. “You have to go!”  
  
“Go? Go _where?_ ” Dean asks desperately. “It’s all over, Cas.”  
  
“Don’t say that!” Cas hisses, shaking him, but the hopelessness in Dean’s eyes won’t be dislodged. Cas swallows hard. “I still… I still have one flight left.”  
  
“Then go,” Dean begs. “Save yourself, Cas, _please_.”  
  
“Dean, I won’t make it either way,” Cas says quietly.  
  
Dean reels back at that, his breath leaving him like it’s been sucked directly out of his lungs.  
  
“No,” he gasps, shaking his head in disbelief. “Not you too,” he says, devastation overwhelming him again as the words sink in.  
  
Grabbing Cas close, Dean crashes their lips together, pouring everything he has into the kiss – reminding Cas of everything they’ve ever said and done, telling him all the things they never got to say or do – until the dam finally breaks, overwhelmed by it all, spilling tears between them.  
  
“I’m sorry, Dean,” Cas whispers.  
  
Dean pulls back, gripping Cas firmly by the arms and looking him straight in the eye. “Then I’m staying right here with you,” he says determinedly.  
  
“No, Dean. I won’t let you,” Cas replies, just as determined, and Dean has a horrible feeling he isn’t going to win this argument. Not this time. Not ever again.  
  
“You can’t leave me here like this, Cas. You can’t leave me all alone,” he chokes out. “I need you.”  
  
“Dean, you know I’ll do whatever it takes to protect you,” Cas murmurs, soothing his thumbs across Dean’s cheeks. “And you won’t be alone, I promise. Just remember that wherever you go, no matter how far, I will always, _always_ love you. No matter what. As long as you remember that, I’ll always be with you,” he says. And as he speaks there’s not a trace of doubt or remorse in his eyes, as they roam over Dean’s face, looking their last.  
  
Dean nods numbly, eyes roving over Cas’ features the same way, trying to memorize every last detail under the light of the still-expanding column behind them, coming to consume and destroy them all.  
  
Even in that horrendously bright white light Dean can still see Cas glowing, soft and golden around his body as he begins to access different planes of time and space. But as the familiar glow brightens, Dean sees the tattered shadows of Cas’ wings, twitching brokenly as Cas struggles to gather his power. Dean sobs when he sees how mutilated they are, realizing just how much it must’ve taken for Cas to get them even _this_ far.  
  
But then, Cas begins to glow in a way Dean’s never seen before – brighter and more concentrated, but only around his head, the light circling around him like a ring. Like a halo.  
  
It’s the most beautiful thing Dean’s ever seen. _Cas_ is the most beautiful thing Dean’s ever seen. And he doesn’t ever want to have to look away.  
  
But the light begins to glow so bright, his eyes start to burn from its power.  
  
“Cas…” Dean whimpers.  
  
“Shut your eyes, Dean,” Cas whispers as the energy overflows, pouring from his eyes and crackling in the air around them, coming to a crescendo.  
  
Dean nods again, forcing his eyes shut against the onslaught, and presses one last kiss to Cas’ lips.

 


	2. chapter one

  
_Castiel has many dreams. Most of them are the usual kind – ridiculous and nonsensical, twisting landscapes and winding journeys that lead to nowhere. Some of them are full of memory, full-blown and vivid as the day they occurred – or else, merely grains of truth woven into the absurdity of the usual dream to create some kind of bizarre amalgam of the two. But between memory and absurdity, sometimes there are visions, glimpses into other worlds – parallel worlds._   
  
_Sometimes these worlds are so different, it’s difficult to tell whether they’re real or just another dream, another nightmare. And sometimes they are so similar, they’re indistinguishable from memory, but for the repercussions of one tiny difference, one decision or action that went the other direction. But either way, there are always patterns, familiar themes that repeat themselves, over and over again, through many different incarnations. Fixed end points, destinies to be found, balanced precariously on the choices made along the way._   
  
_Castiel dreams of a world where it’s not Dean who dies at Stull Cemetery, but Dean’s half-brother Adam, a shape-shifter coerced into taking on Dean’s appearance in exchange for the release of his captive mother._   
  
_The results are the same, though. The sight of his dead brother so enrages Sam that his power spikes out of control, dangerously enhancing the powers of the mutant beside him – Lucifer. And with the erratic power boost from Sam, light pours from Lucifer’s body, blinding white and incandescent like never before._   
  
_By the time Castiel can get the real Dean to the cemetery, it’s too late. Sam’s power is completely destabilized, feeding Lucifer’s iridescence until it seems to gain a momentum all on of its own, spiralling out of control. Violent winds whip through the air, lifting Lucifer from the ground, up into the light radiating from his body._   
  
_Dean immediately sends out a neutralizing field, pushing forward against the wind to where his brother is hunched over on the ground, but it seems to have no effect, the winds raging on and on around them._   
  
_“Sam, it’s okay! I’m here!” he yells over the maelstrom, reaching out as he pushes closer. “Give me your hands! Just like when we were kids! Breathe with me, Sammy! It’s okay!”_   
  
_“It’s not going to work, Dean!” Sam screams, not even the physical contact strong enough to ground him now. The very earth begins to crack and crumble beneath them, the air crackling with power as the light around Lucifer begins to expand._   
  
_“Dean!” Castiel yells out in warning. Even Michael finally seems to understand the danger, the calm of his steel facade crumbling like the ground around them as he staggers backwards against the onslaught, his super-strength no longer any match for Lucifer’s enhanced powers._   
  
_“Get us out of here!” Michael yells at Castiel. But it’s been a long time since Castiel’s followed any of his brother’s orders, and he’s not leaving without Dean._   
  
_He thinks he sees the moment when Michael finally understands he’s lost – the fury and indignation at Castiel’s choice. The choice Castiel’s made over and over again since he first met Dean Winchester._   
  
_But it’s only for a moment, as in the next second an arc of Lucifer’s light shoots towards Michael like lightning, eviscerating him where he stands. Castiel barely hears Lucifer’s victorious cackle through the roar of wind and trembling earth._   
  
_“I’m sorry, Michael,” Castiel whispers under his breath, mourning the loss of his brother, no matter how misguided his actions were. And it seems Castiel will soon lose another brother, as the light around Lucifer grows still brighter, bigger, burning the very air around them._   
  
_The maniacal glee on Lucifer’s face soon disappears as well, as he finally realizes the situation has escalated beyond his control. All Lucifer had wanted was to destroy Michael. He’d needed Sam to boost his powers enough to fight against Michael’s impenetrable strength, but he clearly didn’t expect this. He hadn’t known that the sight of Dean’s dead body would send Sam’s power so out of control._   
  
_Michael had known. It was his plan all along. It was only his arrogance that made him believe he would survive such an onslaught._   
  
_Lucifer’s light begins to overtake Adam’s body where it’s lying on the ground, still a perfect imitation of Dean, even in death. In split-seconds, it’s shredded to pieces, same as Michael. And if it was hard enough to look into a mere imitation of Dean’s eyes, open and fixed in death, it’s harder still to see this tangible vision of a fate that threatens to befall them still._   
  
_Castiel arches a wing over the real Dean, trying to shield him from the brunt of Lucifer’s power for as long as he can. Lucifer radiates so bright, it’s even begun to unveil the dimension that keeps Castiel’s wings invisible, creating giant wing-like shadows in the blinding light. He could already feel his wings on fire before, but now Castiel can actually see them slowly burning away._   
  
_The grass around Sam’s knees begins rapidly growing and contorting into abnormal shapes, his power creating mutation all around him – save for the space around where Dean kneels, his neutralizing power fighting to cancel out Sam’s mutation enhancement, trying to keep the grass alive and healthy. It’s no use, though. Everything around Sam begins to curl up and shrivel until the entire ground is brown and dead._   
  
_“Dean, you need to go!” Sam yells._   
  
_“No! I’m not gonna leave you!” Dean yells back, shaking him._   
  
_“Cas, get him out of here!” Sam ignores his brother, appealing to Castiel._   
  
_“No!” Dean whirls around to glare at Castiel, eyes wild and desperate._   
  
_“Dean, if we stay much longer, I won’t be able to fly us out of here at all! And I won’t leave you!” Castiel shouts over the din._   
  
_A dry sob escapes Dean’s throat, his hands clenching uselessly around Sam’s arms._   
  
_Sam nods at Castiel, a heavy resignation settling in his eyes before he turns back to his brother. “Let go, Dean,” he says._   
  
_“No, Sam! No!” Dean pleads._   
  
_“It’s okay, Dean. It’s gonna be okay. Let go.”_   
  
_“Sammy!”_   
  
_“Bye, Dean.”_   
  
_Castiel can wait no longer. With one last nod from Sam, he grabs onto Dean, opens a portal, and flies._

  
  
Dean lands hard on unforgiving concrete, crashing to his knees in sudden silence, the furious winds from before gone, leaving his ears ringing in the abrupt absence of noise. Squinting open his eyes, he sees that the blinding light has vanished as well, leaving him in a dimly-lit street that his sight needs a moment to adjust to. He finds himself in what looks like the same empty neighborhood, amongst ramshackle buildings in Kansas City, though the night sky is dark, and the ground isn’t trembling beneath him. But it can’t be. It can’t be the same place. Because his arms are empty. Cas is gone. Everyone he’s ever known and loved is gone. He is completely, utterly, alone.  
  
Dean feels a heavy hollowness settle in his chest. Distantly he knows what he feels makes no sense, because how can he be so full of emptiness? It trickles down slow, to the very tips of his fingers and soles of his feet, weighing him down until it’s too hard to even move his lungs to breathe. Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he stops altogether. Maybe that’s what he wants.  
  
His body protests, sucking in deep, shuddering breaths that seem overly loud in the quiet. He doesn’t know how long he’s been kneeling there, collapsed in the middle of the street, but as he picks himself up off the ground he belatedly realizes it must not matter. He hasn’t heard anything but silence, let alone the movement of any people or cars.  
  
He can feel himself shaking, trembling as he makes his way down the street, and wraps his arms tightly around himself, trying to pull himself together. _Shock_ , he thinks at first. And his teeth begin to chatter as his body temperature drops. But when he really starts looking around, trying to work out where the hell he is, he starts to suspect it’s more than that.  
  
There’s more than just litter lining the sidewalks and roads. There’s rubble. Glass and mortar, crumbled to near dust on the streets. And when Dean looks up, he sees the tops of some of the taller buildings are completely destroyed, collapsed over the ones around them. Dean realizes the taller buildings must’ve taken the brunt of an explosion, providing some kind of protection for the surrounding structures, leaving them mostly standing.  
  
But more than that, there are strange shadows on the walls. Like burn marks. They remind Dean of the pictures he saw in school when they were learning about World War II and nuclear bombs. Mushroom clouds of smoke and light – so bright it burned up every living thing in its path in a moment, leaving only shadows, forever burned behind. Light just like Lucifer’s. And when Dean starts to see frost, webbing across any shards of glass that remain, Dean wonders if he’s landed in some kind of nuclear winter, the fallout of Lucifer and Sam’s power combined.  
  
Did Cas somehow send him to the future? It would explain how he escaped the blast, safely skipping over it completely to land long after it happened. Cas once told Dean that he was able to bend time on occasion, though it wasn’t easy. It had something to do with time and space being the same dimension or something. Cas had tried to explain it when Dean had asked about his powers, but as soon as Cas had started talking about partial differential equations, he’d lost even Sam in the conversation. So Cas had just ended up saying, “Time is fluid, Dean,” and left it at that.  
  
He’d never seen Cas actually do it, though.  
  
He’d never seen Cas’ halo before.  
  
He’ll never see it again.  
  
Dean shudders violently, swallowing down the hiccupping sound that threatens to escape his throat, telling himself that it’s just the cold wracking through his body. He needs to keep moving. He needs to find shelter.  
  
Stumbling through the deserted streets, he finally comes to the conclusion that the area he’s in is completely abandoned. He wonders if it has something to do with the fallout of Lucifer’s power, that the radiation has made the place uninhabitable or something. There’s usually rats scurrying around the depths of the alleys in places like this, at the very least. But he can’t even hear any insects. And the weeds in between the cracks of the pavement are all brown and dead.  
  
Just like the ground around Sam before--  
  
Dean sucks in sharp breath. Whatever radiation is left won’t matter to him. His neutralizing power will protect him from the kind of abnormalities that would usually result from nuclear exposure.  
  
Eventually Dean finds an old warehouse that seems to be mostly intact. There’s rubble on top of it, where the building next to it has collapsed over it, taking the brunt of the blast and protecting it. So the warehouse itself is still standing. What’s more, there are no windows on the front of the structure. All the other buildings with windows had the glass blown in, exposing them to the cold. But that also means the warehouse is dark as hell inside, and Dean has to pull out his phone to see in the dark that instantly closes around him.  
  
He’s not surprised to see that he has no signal.  
  
Not that there’s anyone left for him to call…  
  
Dean keeps moving. He may not have any signal, but it’s not wise to waste his battery either. And it’s getting colder.  
  
A few minutes later, he discovers he isn’t the first one to have come across this safe haven. There’s a nest of old blankets in the corner that sure smell like someone lived there for a while, so the building must be more stable than it looks.  
  
Next to the blankets, there are also a couple of large trashcans, filled with the ashes of burnt debris. Dean scrounges around for more fuel, picking up litter and old pieces of furniture to burn for warmth and light. There’s not enough to get both bins going, so he’ll have to do with one, but he manages to get the first burning steady enough to last through the night.  
  
The cold still bites at him though, so he buries himself in the blankets as well. They smell rank, and they’re covered in dirt and the crusted remains of what could be blood, but it sure as hell beats nothing. Dean hunkers down, staring mindlessly into the flames, too tired to care, too tired to complain… Too tired to stop the thoughts running through his head anymore.  
  
Maybe if he’d gotten there sooner, he could’ve stopped this. Maybe if he’d just been smarter he could’ve worked it out – would’ve realized it wasn’t really _him_ in Chuck’s vision, lying dead at Michael’s feet, but Adam. And then Sam wouldn’t have gone to Lucifer, and agreed to help him destroy Michael.  
  
Then again, maybe if Dean had made more of an effort with their estranged half-brother, kept a better eye on him, the kid wouldn’t have been such a vulnerable target in the first place. Or maybe if Dean had just played along with Michael’s plans earlier, Michael wouldn’t have had to resort to such desperate measures. Then at least his brother would still be alive. _Both_ of his brothers. And Cas…  
  
Dean swallows hard against the sob threatening to escape his throat, dimly aware of the wetness on his cheeks.  
  
Maybe… maybe…  
  
Maybe it really would have been better if Dean had insisted on staying with them, so he could’ve died too.  
  


  
  
“Dean.”  
  
“Mmm?”  
  
“Wake up, Dean,” Cas murmurs lazily, pressing loose open-mouthed kisses against the back of his neck.  
  
“Don’t wanna,” Dean grumbles, snuggling back into Cas’ embrace. He’s so comfortable here, pressed against the line of Cas’ body, wrapped up in the soft nest of Cas’ wings with their legs tangled together, warm and cozy in their bed. He doesn’t ever want to leave. He feels safe here.  
  
“ _Dean_ ,” Cas murmurs again, and Dean can hear the smile in his voice, feel the curve of Cas’ lips against his skin. And when he presses back again, he can feel Cas’ interest stirring to life in the cradle of Cas’ hips.  
  
Cas chuckles low and throaty at that, tickling Dean’s earlobe with his breath before his lips close around it, sucking and nibbling just the way Dean likes. Helpless against the onslaught, Dean can’t stop the low moan that escapes his throat. It won’t be long before he gives in altogether and rolls over, pressing Cas back against the pillows and claiming Cas’ smiling lips with his own. And then Cas will smile that special smile, the one only for Dean, and say, “I love your kisses most of all.”  
  
Then Dean will kiss him again, because he loves the way Cas kisses him as well, like he gives himself over to it entirely, no going halfway, losing himself completely whether it’s tender and soft, or deep and claiming.  
  
Dean can see it now. So many of their mornings have started that way. He just has to wake up, and roll over, and Cas should be there right there, waiting for him.  
  
But he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to move at all. He knows, somewhere in the back of his mind, that it won’t play out that way this time.  
  
“Cas,” he whimpers, afraid to open his eyes. He just wants to stay here in the dark of their bedroom at the bunker, wrapped up in the endless night of Cas’ wings.  
  
“I said, get up!”  
  
A boot connects with Dean’s ribs.  
  
“What are you doing here?”  
  
Dean no longer has any choice. The soft embrace of Cas’ wings is abruptly replaced with the smelly cocoon of old blankets as he’s rudely awaken by the sharp pain in his side.  
  
“Come on, move it. Up!” the boot jostles him again. Dean growls as he pulls himself out of his nest, hunching over to protect his smarting ribs. When he finally opens his eyes he sees two men in black paramilitary gear, radiation masks covering their faces, and he remembers where he is. Or rather, isn’t.  
  
“Papers,” one of the men says, holding out his hand expectantly. Dean eyes their guns warily, noticing the tasers on their belts. Given the right ability, a lot of mutants are able to dodge or evade regular bullets, but electricity is a much more effective means of knocking out a mutant’s powers temporarily. Either way, Dean’s powers are mostly passive. The odds aren’t in his favor. Not while he’s lying on the ground like this. But maybe if he can get on his feet and be patient, he’ll find a good moment to take them out and make a run for it.  
  
“Uh…” Dean stalls, patting himself down and pretending to search his clothes until he can come up with a plan. But he’s got nothing. “You know what, guys? I’d love to help you, but it looks like I left them in my other pants?”  
  
“Looks like we got ourselves a comedian,” the second guy sneers.  
  
The first guys rolls his eyes and grabs Dean’s arm, hauling him up. “Come on, shifter. You’re coming with us.”  
  
“ _Shifter,”_ Dean echoes, confused, as he gets string-tied and pulled outdoors. There are two more soldiers waiting there with heavy artillery, and Dean curses internally, his chances of escape becoming even more slim.  
  
“Get in the truck,” one of the men barks at him as they approach a tank-like vehicle.  
  
“What, no dinner first?” Dean snarks, annoyed at the man-handling.  
  
“Cute. We’ll see how they like your sense of humor at the camp _, Mr. Winchester_.”  
  
Dean blanches in surprise. He’s so thrown that the soldiers know his name, he barely even thinks to put up a struggle as they throw him in the back of the truck, let alone ask what camp they’re talking about.  
  
At least there’s a thin strip of window along the truck’s walls, so he can see where they’re going. As they’re driving out of the city Dean finally notices them – the signs plastered on the walls that he’d missed the night before, unable to see them in the dark – Quarantine signs announcing the area off-limits. But the further they drive the signs begin to thin out, only to be replaced by signs that are just as intimidating, announcing a government decreed curfew at 10pm, and that all mutants must carry registration papers at all times.  
  
Huh. Papers. So that’s what tweedle-dum and tweedle-dumber were talking about. The government finally passed that goddamn Mutant Registration law. Lucifer’s blast must’ve given them the perfect excuse to go through with it. So that probably means “the camp” he’s being taken to is some kind of internment camp for unregistered mutants or something.  
  
Dammit. This is exactly the kind of scenario most mutants feared. And it’s exactly why Dean and his brother worked so hard to keep the more violent, fringier mutants in line. A few rotten apples gave the rest of them a bad name, and gave regular humans the fuel to justify their prejudice and fear.  
  
And that was exactly the kind of situation Michael was looking to exploit. Lucifer sought power through chaos, but it was always Michael’s intention to seize control by providing order. Subjugation through “protection.” And this Big Brother level of military enforcement reeks of Michael.  
  
If this is the future Dean was going to land in, Cas shouldn’t have even bothered keeping him safe for it. Dean doesn’t want to see this – all the years of fighting, everything he’d struggled to hold on to and lost – all of that, for nothing.  
  
Dean’s so busy lamenting his fate, it takes a while to realize something else about the signs is very, very off. At the bottom of each sign, in smaller print, there are government issue dates. And they just don’t make any sense.  
  
All the dates are from _long_ before Lucifer’s blast.  
  


  
  
The sun is going down by the time they get back to “the camp,” which is literally an old summer camp the next state over in Illinois, converted into some kind of internment facility. Just like Dean suspected. But he imagines the large “Welcome to Camp Chitaqua” sign would be a lot more inviting if it were’t for the heavily armed guards patrolling the perimeter fence.  
  
Dean is immediately led to a trailer for “processing,” where all his clothes and belongings are taken from him, before he’s hosed down and scrubbed clean of any “lingering radiation.” Then he’s given a plain jumpsuit and slippers before he’s thrown back outside into some kind of general holding area. There are several other people milling around, some of them obviously mutants, but not all. Mutant sympathizers maybe? Dean tries to talk to a few of them, work out where he is and what’s happening, but as soon as they really look at him they freeze up and don’t want to have anything to do with him.  
  
But then, just when he’s about to start busting some heads for answers, Dean sees a familiar bearded face in the throng.  
  
“Chuck? Is that you?” he asks, coming closer. Chuck’s eyes go wide when he sees Dean.  
  
“Oh my God. It really _is_ you!” Chuck gapes.  
  
“Oh man, I never thought I’d say this, but it is _good_ to see you, buddy,” Dean exclaims, hugging him.  
  
“Good to see _me?_ ” Chuck squeaks. “What about _you?_ You _died_ , Dean! I _saw_ you, dead at Michael’s feet! But here you are! And I saw this happening too but I thought it couldn’t possibly be a vision, it had to be just wishful thinking or something. But it’s really you! How is this possible?”  
  
Dean raises his eyebrows. At least now he knows why the soldiers thought he was a shifter before. Everyone believes he’s really dead.  
  
“It wasn’t me you saw in your vision, Chuck,” he explains. “It was Adam. He was a shape-shifter.”  
  
“Oh thank God,” Chuck breathes in relief. “I mean, that’s terrible. For Adam,” he quickly amends, “but yay you?”  
  
“Yeah, I guess,” Dean huffs a bitter laugh.  
  
Chuck stares at him for a second, chewing on his lip nervously at Dean’s reaction. “I’m sorry, Dean,” Chuck says quietly. “Maybe if I hadn’t said anything, Sam wouldn’t have gone to Lucifer to help him fight Michael, and none of this would’ve happened. It’s all my fault,” he says.  
  
Dean doesn't know what to say to that for a second, clenching his jaw shut and just blinking at Chuck. But then Dean really _looks_ , and sees the weight of that guilt in Chuck’s eyes, that he somehow created this fucked up world. Dean sighs.  
  
“It’s not all your fault, Chuck. They would’ve got to us one way or another,” he replies. In fact, Dean’s starting to wonder if all this was inevitable. That they’d just been deluding themselves into thinking Michael or Lucifer wouldn’t catch up to them sooner or later.  
  
“So… Where have you been all this time?” Chuck asks.  
  
“I… don't know,” Dean frowns at the question, remembering the puzzling dates on the signs. “Hey, Chuck? Can you tell me what day it is?”  
  
“Uh, Thursday?” Chuck answers.  
  
“No, what _date?_ ”  
  
“Sometime in August, I think? Why? Is something supposed to be happening? Oh my god, is the Resistance coming to get you?” Chuck hisses excitedly. “Is that the plan? I heard they had a new prophet-type mutant with them, but they should’ve intercepted your transport long before you got here if they’d known. But maybe Kevin didn’t believe any visions he had of you either, or something else happened to him--”  
  
“ _Resistance_? What?” Dean interrupts. “Wait. What _year_ is it?”  
  
“2014?” Chuck’s face scrunches up in confusion. “Dean? Are you okay? Did they hit you on the head when they brought you in or something?” Chuck asks, expression filling with concern.  
  
“That doesn’t makes sense…” Dean trails off, frowning. “When did all of _this_ ,” Dean waves a hand at the camp, “ _happen_ , if Stull Cemetery was just yesterday?”  
  
“Dean, Stull Cemetery happened _years_ ago,” Chuck replies.  
  
“What? No… that’s…” Dean trails off. If this isn’t the future, then, “Where the hell am I?”  
  
“Camp Chitaqua?” Chuck answers in that perpetually nervous way of his. “The government calls it a refugee camp, but they’ve been interrogating everyone they bring in for information. They’re looking for anything to do with the Resistance. Their headquarters, specifically. Lucky I never really knew anything about the bunker, otherwise I’d _really_ be in-- Uh-oh,” Chuck stops abruptly, mid-ramble, looking over Dean’s shoulder with wide eyes. Dean turns around to see a dark-haired woman charging up to him with a furious expression on her face.  
  
“Oh you think that’s funny, do you?” she snaps, swinging at Dean.  
  
“Woah, lady!” Dean exclaims, pushing Chuck in front of him.  
  
“Risa,” Chuck supplies out of the side of his mouth.  
  
“You’re going to get all of us in trouble pulling a stunt like this!” she yells, much to Dean’s confusion. “Take his face off! Dean Winchester was a hero!” she yells, swinging again.  
  
 “ _Hero?_ ” Dean scoffs. He would be laughing if he wasn’t so busy trying to duck. Lucky for him, a couple other inmates rush forward to hold her back.  
  
“Come on, Risa, relax. You don’t want to draw any unnecessary attention,” a big guy hisses into her ear as she struggles against his hold.  
  
“Yeah, Risa.” Dean says, collecting himself. “I mean, I would help you out if I could, but there’s no changing this face. I’m just this pretty,” he grins.  
  
It’s the wrong thing to say. The big guy holding Risa back roars at that, whirling around and landing one right on Dean’s jaw.  
  
Dean sprawls onto the ground, hitting the dirt hard. And before he can even pull himself together to get up again, the man is jumping on his back, pummelling him in the kidneys. Dean grunts, trying to hunch in on himself and protect his sensitive organs while manoeuvring himself into a stronger position to flip the guy around and fight back. But by the time he finally manages to do it there’s a full-fledged brawl happening around them, and guards are streaming into the containment area to break apart the fighting. As soon as Dean gets up, he barely misses a ball of energy aimed his way, throwing up a neutralizing field just in time to extinguish it. The big guy Dean was fighting with before nods his thanks, then throws himself into the fray, turning his attention to the guards instead.  
  
The guards seem outnumbered though, and Dean wonders how they think they’re going to subdue everyone, especially when the inmates have mutants on their side. There’s a dark-skinned woman with arms made of fire, shooting streams of it from her palms. Another man transforms himself into an elephant, stampeding the guards in his way. And there’s another who seems to be able to manipulate the very clay of the earth, forming a giant golem from it to fight for him. The human guards don’t stand a chance against those kind of powers, even armed with shock-rods.  
  
But then the guards begin to multiply, appearing out of thin air right before Dean’s eyes. He realizes that not all the guards are human after all. And that throws him for a loop. Because he thought the _mutants_ were being oppressed here. Why would there be mutant guards as well? Unless they’re _human_ sympathizers?  
  
Dean’s surprise is quickly eclipsed when he realises it’s not actually _more_ guards that are appearing, but the _same_ guard, copying himself. And Dean recognizes him. It’s Cas’ old friend Balthazar, the guy they used to call “multiple man” … for various reasons. But he’s nothing like the decadent rogue Dean had come to know. Dean never thought he’d see Balthazar in anything other than his usual ridiculously deep v-neck shirts, let alone the thick and heavy uniform of whatever paramilitary organization that’s running this place. He’s ruthless. Single-minded and efficient as he rounds up the inmates. With not even a word of playful banter that was typical of the man. The rest of the inmates are quickly captured or knocked out.  
  
Unfortunately, that frees up a lot of the human guards to gang up on Dean. While he can throw off Balthazar’s clones with his neutralizing fields, his powers don’t work against bare fists. Dean only manages to get a few blows in, before he’s being grabbed by the arms and yanked to his knees.  
  
“Settle down,” one of the men snarls at him, brandishing a high voltage shock-rod in his face. Dean holds his palms up in surrender, backing off. He can taste blood in his mouth, and his head is spinning in that way that tells him he’s on the verge of passing out anyway.  
  
So he’s not entirely sure he’s seeing right when the crowd parts to let someone through.  
  
“Commander!” the guards snap to attention.  
  
“What is the meaning of this?” that all-too-familiar voice growls, and Dean’s heart thuds to a stop in shock.  
  
“… _Cas?_ ”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art by Heather
> 
> [also at tumblr](http://the-diggler.tumblr.com/post/99464951969/)


	3. chapter two

  
_Castiel dreams of a world where he is never made a Commander. Where Raphael doesn’t step in to take Michael’s place after what comes to be called the Morningstar blast, and use that horrendous display of mutant power to establish a new world order, preying on the fear of that power to subjugate the human race. Raphael’s ability to control lightning is just as devastating as Lucifer’s power, and in the aftermath of the Morningstar disaster, all it takes is the utter decimation of one single gas station to prove it, solidifying his position._   
  
_Castiel also dreams that Crowley doesn’t step in to take Lucifer’s place, leading the mutants living underground, too ‘different’ in appearance to pass as human. Crowley has always been a power-hungry pest. A red-skinned mutant with a tail like a demon and the ability to create and control dog-like beasts, he’d spent his life exiled with the rest of Lucifer’s faction amongst sewers and abandoned buildings, dealing and manoeuvring himself into a position of power, and ever hungry for more._   
  
_In this world Castiel dreams of, where the government does not cower in fear, the continued infighting amongst mutants never results in the Mutant Registration Act. Therefore Raphael cannot use it as another means to track and eliminate his mutant enemies._   
  
_Hundreds of innocent mutants never die, caught in the crossfire, falling victim to Raphael’s extremist measures. So there is no need for the Resistance to form in response. Mutants and humans who want nothing more than to live peaceful lives do not have to band together to fight for their survival._   
  
_Not that Castiel has ever had anything to fear from the Mutant Registration Act. He has always been loyal to his brother Michael, and Raphael in turn – in fact, he played a crucial role in Raphael’s rise to power. And it was for that very service, he was rewarded with the position of Commander._   
  
_But not in the world Castiel dreams of._

  
  
“Cas?” Dean gasps, a whisper of a sound, barely able to believe what he’s seeing.  
  
Castiel’s expression turns livid when he sees Dean kneeling there on the ground, and for a long moment he glares down at Dean in stony silence.  
  
“Put him in isolation,” he finally barks.  
  
“Yes, Commander.”  
  
“Com _man_ der. What? Cas, what’s going on?” Dean gasps in desperation, struggling against the guards’ hold, confused and overwhelmed and wanting nothing more than to touch Castiel with his own hands, see if he’s real. “ _Cas!_ ”  
  
“And shut him up,” Castiel growls, before whipping around and stalking away.  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
The last thing Dean sees is the back of Castiel’s trenchcoat, before he feels the familiar stun of a shock-rod, and blacks out.

  
  
Isolation turns out to be no more than a glorified tool shed, big enough to store the kind of heavy-duty lawnmower that would be required to maintain an entire summer camp, though there’s no such vehicle to be found. The shed’s been emptied entirely of all its previous tools and gardening equipment, though there’s a strong earthy smell that still clings to the floors and walls. There may have been shelves on the walls at one stage too, but now the entire structure is completely gutted, not even tool hooks left for a prisoner to hang themselves with. And the corrugated walls are too thin to attempt any kind of escape without someone easily hearing him. Not that Dean has the strength or energy to get very far. By the time he regains consciousness, he’s parched and hungry, and no matter how much he yells at the guards just outside his door, they pay him no heed. Apparently isolation also means starvation.  
  
Dean loses track of the days, spending most of his time asleep as his body tries to conserve what little strength he has. It’s only when he no longer has the energy to yell at the guards that they open the door, checking to see if he’s still alive. Dean doesn’t know how often they check, or what the point of it is if they just want to starve him to death, but he supposes they must be waiting for something.  
  
It’s when things get really bad that Dean sees Cas.   
  
Sometimes it’s Castiel “the Commander” who comes. Grabs him by the face and twists it harshly side to side to examine him. Dean can never make his throat work, can’t even lift a hand to reach for him. But Castiel can probably tell what he wants to do by the look on his face, because as soon as he tries to do anything, Castiel leaves again.  
  
But sometimes… Sometimes, it’s _his_ Cas, come to tell him to hold on, never give up. Because Cas loves him. Will _always_ love him. No matter what. And then Cas will kiss him, so soft Dean can barely feel it, but it breaks his heart just the same. And Cas will follow the trail of his tear-streaked cheeks, from his lips to his eyelids, and whisper, “Shut your eyes, Dean,” until blackness overtakes him again.  
  
Dean’s not sure if they’re nightmares, or starved hallucinations, or both. He begins to wonder if the Castiel he saw that first time in the middle of the camp was real either. But he doesn’t really care. He would rather have these twisted visions of Cas than nothing at all.

  
  
Dean supposes the guards find what they’re looking for when he finally gets moved. He wakes up in a cabin, sprawled on his ass and handcuffed to exposed piping. A real 5-star facility. Better than the tool shed though.  
  
It seems like it used to be some kind of living quarters. There’s a sink/kitchen area along one side of it, but from the looks of it the place has been converted into an office of sorts. There’s a table nearby with what looks like a computer console on it, except the screen looks like it’s been rotated 90 degrees, so it’s standing taller than it is wide. He can also see just far enough over the table top to find the contents of his pockets strewn all over it – his phone, and every hidden lockpick, box cutter, and switchblade that was taken from him in processing.  
  
Dean thinks he knows where this is going. It’s interrogation time. The whole isolation and starvation thing was just softening him up for it.  
  
For all that Dean’s gleaned from his surroundings though, he’s still completely unprepared when Cas walks through the door.  
  
“Cas,” he gasps, like he’s been punched in the gut all over again.  
  
Castiel’s eyes narrow into a venomous glare as he approaches, but he doesn’t acknowledge Dean in any other way. Balthazar is following closely behind, and the two men come to stand in front of him, close enough to loom menacingly, but still just out of Dean’s reach.  
  
Dean doesn’t know how long he stares up at Castiel, taking in the sight of him, familiar features he never thought he’d see again. Those piercing blue eyes, the stubble-rough jaw, rumpled dark hair – though there’s tiredness in the dark lines under Castiel’s eyes, a tension in his jaw and coldness in his gaze that Dean isn’t so familiar with. Even though Castiel’s suit may be crisp and uncreased like Dean’s never seen, it looks to Dean like he’s falling apart.  
  
And yet, he’s still the most beautiful sight Dean’s ever seen.  
  
“Is this real?” Dean breathes. “Are you really alive?”  
  
“Aren’t we supposed to be asking _you_ that?” Balthazar drawls, the sardonic arch of his eyebrow finally revealing some of that snarky personality Dean’s familiar with. But even if Dean wasn’t already used to ignoring the man, he would anyway, still entirely focused on the sight of Castiel standing, _alive_ , before him.  
  
“I thought you were dead!” Dean chokes out, straining against his bonds as he subconsciously tries to get closer, anyway he can. “Your wings were so damaged, I thought for sure you were stuck in the blast. How--”  
  
“Is this some kind of protest?” Castiel growls, talking over him. “Some kind of statement? Taking on the appearance of Dean Winchester?”  
  
“What? No…” Dean stills, ceasing to struggle in his confusion.  
  
“To be honest, I’m more impressed that he’s still managing to _hold_ that appearance after this long,” Balthazar interjects.  
  
“That’s because I’m _not_ a shape-shifter!” Dean huffs in annoyance. Balthazar’s other eyebrow arches up to join the first as he crosses his arms over his chest, staring down at Dean and waiting for an explanation.  
  
Dean takes a deep breath, looking up at Castiel. “It’s really me, Cas. Can’t you tell?” he asks, searching Castiel’s eyes for some kind of recognition, any hint of _anything_ resembling the way Cas used to look at him. “Cas?” he whispers, pleading.  
  
“Stop _calling_ me that,” Castiel snarls, turning away.  
  
Dean recoils, stunned as if he’s just been slapped.  
  
“You have to believe me,” he whispers disbelievingly. “Please! It’s me! You saved me! Whatever you did to get me out worked--"  
  
“What are you talking about?” Balthazar leans forward, brows furrowing. “Out? Out of where?”  
  
“Kansas,” Dean frowns, his confusion increasing. “The blast.”  
  
“You’re saying Castiel saved you from the blast,” Balthazar says.  
  
“No!” Castiel suddenly barks, whirling around again. “Dean Winchester _died_ the day of the blast.”  
  
Dean reels back once more, shocked by the wild look in Castiel’s eyes, the vehement certainty in his tone. “No I didn’t, Cas. It’s really me,” he replies, willing Castiel to believe him. “I made it,” he shrugs. “But where I landed, I got no idea. I thought it was the future, but the dates are the same. And it seems like the blast happened years ago even though it was only yesterday, and now there’s this Mutant Registration Act that came out of nowhere--"  
  
“Wait,” Castiel interrupts again, eyes narrowing as he steps forward. “You said before that my wings were injured, did you not?”  
  
“Uh… yes?” Dean answers.  
  
“Then _how_ exactly, did I supposedly get you out?”  
  
“You didn’t use your wings. You used your halo,” Dean replies, hoping that the explanation will finally make them believe.  
  
Both men react forcefully at that – Castiel staggering backwards in shock while Balthazar darts forward with sharp interest in his eyes.  
  
“Are you implying you’re from a parallel universe?” Balthazar exclaims.  
  
“Balthazar!” Castiel hisses in reprimand.  
  
“… _What?_ ” Dean gapes, dumbfounded.  
  
But even as he tries to wrap his mind around what Balthazar’s just said, there’s something in him that already knows it’s true. It’s the only thing that makes sense. The only thing that explains why the date is the same but everything is so radically different. Maybe the blast really did happen years ago, in _this_ world. And maybe Dean really _did_ die, in this world, and Castiel – _this_ Castiel - got out of the blast instead.  
  
If this Castiel was even anywhere near the blast in the first place.  
  
For all Dean knows, this Castiel might never even have known the Dean in this world at all. They might have been absolutely nothing to each other.  
  
The thought cuts through Dean like a knife. For some reason, it feels like a betrayal. Dean knows it makes no sense, but in a way it feels like Castiel’s turned his back on them, like he’s denied everything they’ve been through together. Everything they meant to each other. Everything he _still_ means to Dean.  
  
Castiel sweeps angrily towards the door, Balthazar following hot on his heels and looking contrite over his little slip. Ushering Balthazar outside before him, he turns to glare at Dean one last time as he goes.  
  
“ _Cas,_ ” Dean can’t help but whine as their eyes connect, the sound a broken and desperate thing, even in his own ears.  
  
Something flickers across Castiel’s face then, for the briefest of moments. Too brief for Dean to decipher exactly what. But it’s a crack, all the same, and it makes something in the empty ache of Dean’s chest dare to hope.

  
  
The next time Dean wakes up, he’s back in Isolation. The ground is cold and damp underneath him, and the smell of old dirt fills his nostrils. At least his hands are free again, but the skin around his wrists is chafed and sore where they were bound before.  
  
He doesn’t remember being moved back here, and while he isn’t entirely comfortable with that, he’s not surprised either. He’s pretty weak at the moment, and he can’t really stay conscious for long before passing out again. What worries him more is _why_ he’s back here. They can’t still think he’s a shape-shifter. Not after starving him out this long.  
  
Or maybe, Dean thinks hopefully, they finally believe it’s really him, and they just need to keep him somewhere out of sight. After all, he’s some kind of martyred hero in this world, of course they’d want to keep him a secret from the Resistance here.  
  
 _In this world._  
  
This world where he’s supposed to be dead and Castiel is alive and everything is so completely screwed up.  
  
It still doesn’t seem real. He doesn’t think he could imagine something like this, even in his most twisted nightmares. He’s almost afraid to wonder what else is different.  
  
Thankfully, he doesn’t get a chance to ponder the possibilities, as Dean soon hears a commotion outside the shed. He hears the door unlock from the outside, and has to squint against the harsh sunlight when it opens, but he can at least make out the outline of a large figure being shoved into the shed with him. Then the prisoner trips over Dean’s legs in the dark and sprawls on top of him, crushing and winding Dean with his weight. The guy’s damn heavy. He must be huge.  
  
“Sorry, sorry!” the guy apologizes as he scrambles off Dean, and if Dean hadn’t already lost his breath on impact, _that_ would’ve done it, because he _knows_ that voice.  
  
“… Sam?” Dean croaks, breathless and disbelieving.  
  
The figure freezes on top of Dean. And then he whips his head up, peering through the dim light with a matching expression of disbelief on his _oh_ -so-familiar face.  
  
“Dean?” Sam gasps, eyes darting over his features, taking in the sight of him. Dean knows he’s doing the same, as he clutches desperately at Sam’s shoulders. It’s his brother! His little brother is alive in this world! Before Dean knows it he’s yanking Sam close, crushing his little brother as tight as he can in his arms.  
  
“Sammy! You’re alive!” Dean breathes into Sam’s shaggy mop of hair.  
  
“ _I’m_ alive?” Sam echoes, “ _You’re_ alive! Damn it, Dean!” Sam nearly sobs, clutching Dean just as tight.  Dean’s heart aches at the raw pain in his little brother’s voice. He knows first-hand what his brother must have been going through.  
  
Is this why his Cas sent him to this world? Is this what Cas meant when he told Dean he wouldn’t be alone? But the blast still happened in this world, regardless of _when_ it did, so how did Sam survive?  
  
“How did you get out? I thought you died in the blast!” he asks, pulling away to look at his brother in amazement again.  
  
“Cas got me out,” Sam answers. “It wasn’t pretty,” he explains grimly. “My powers were out of control, and I did a lot of damage before I finally passed out. But yeah, he saved me.”  
  
“He did?” Dean says, that hollow part in his chest surging with hope again. Maybe Dean _did_ mean something to Castiel in this world. Enough for Castiel to pull his brother out of Lucifer’s blast. And maybe it means something now, that Castiel would let him have this time with Sam.  
  
“But Dean, what about you? I saw you! You were dead!” Sam’s voice cracks, and Dean’s heart clenches again. Even though he knows logically this isn’t _his_ Sam, he doesn’t care. They were still brothers in this world and that’s enough for him. Hell, even if they weren’t brothers in the world, Dean would still want to protect _any_ Sam, any way he can.  
  
“It wasn’t me you saw, Sam,” Dean finally says.  
  
“Huh?” Sam loosens his hold, pulling away to look at Dean in confusion. “What do you mean?”  
  
“It wasn’t me,” Dean explains. “It was Adam.”  
  
“Adam?” Sam echoes, brows scrunching up in confusion, and it suddenly occurs to Dean that Sam might not know about their half-brother in this world. There might not even _be_ an Adam in this world.  
  
“Adam,” Sam says again. “Right,” he nods. But there’s something in the way he drawls the word a little too long that gives away his uncertainty. He doesn’t have any idea who Dean’s talking about. But he’s going along with it anyway. And that makes no sense. Dean may be pretty out of it, but he can’t think of any good reason why Sam would do that.  
  
Dean frowns, carefully reaching out to grip Sam’s arm. If Dean really had been a shape-shifter, he’d be too weak to keep using his powers by now. But he isn’t one. He’s barely been using his powers at all. So he isn’t as weak as they think he should be. And at this close range, it doesn’t take much at all to concentrate on what’s right in front of him.  
  
Light flashes around him, like a bulb flickering on and off, too quick to really see anything in detail, but enough to know that there’s no one kneeling on the ground in front of him. In fact, the ground looks a lot like the floor of the cabin he was tied up in before. He’s probably still there. Probably has been all along, still tied up to the pipe under the harsh lighting.  
  
It’s not much, but it’s enough. The illusion is broken.  
  
“Dean?” Sam’s face flickers in front of him in concern and Dean scowls, yanking his hand back.  
  
“Who are you?” he growls menacingly, looking around.  
  
“Well!” a voice scoffs from the other side of the room. And just like that the illusion is dropped, confirming Dean’s suspicion that he’s been in the cabin all along. “I guess there’s just no fooling you, _Dean,_ ” the voice sneers, and Dean turns to see a sickeningly familiar face.  
  
“Zachariah,” Dean seethes. In his own world, Dean’s already killed the illusionist. If he’d known the man was still alive in this one, maybe he wouldn’t have been so trusting. “Why haven’t I killed you yet?” he scowls, wondering how that went awry here.  
  
Zachariah huffs a derisive laugh. “Unfortunately, as much as I share the sentiment, we have other plans for you first,” he smirks.  
  
Dean narrows his eyes at that, but gets no further information as Zachariah heads for the door, the smug grin on his face taunting Dean the entire way. When he opens the door, Castiel re-enters the room.  
  
“Well, Commander,” Zachariah says. “It seems he either truly believes he’s Dean Winchester, or he _is_ Dean Winchester.”  
  
“Impossible,” Castiel glowers.  
  
“Is it? He wouldn’t be the first… _survivor_ we’ve found,” Zachariah says, eyeing Castiel suspiciously. Dean frowns in confusion, wondering what that could mean.  
  
“No. There’s no way,” Castiel replies, his tone resolute.  
  
“Then what? He’s just that powerful of a shifter? Who’s also been brainwashed? You yourself said no mutant could keep up that appearance for so long, and under such duress. And he was able to neutralize my power of illusion, so he certainly has Dean Winchester’s abilities as well. What other explanation is there?”  
  
Castiel doesn’t reply to that, and suddenly Dean gets the impression Zachariah might not know about the parallel universe situation. It could be that Castiel is trying to keep that particular ability close to his chest, judging by how angry he was at Balthazar for giving it away. And by the fact that his _own_ Cas didn’t even tell Dean about it, though he doesn’t know why.  
  
But that’s probably a good thing in Zachariah’s case. Dean shudders to think about the things the man would get up to with that ability at his command.  
  
“Well, _who_ he is, is irrelevant to what he can do. Have him transferred to R &D for… _further examination_ ,” Zachariah orders Castiel, before approaching Dean again. “It’s a good thing we found you when we did,” he sneers. “There have been rumours of Lucifer loyalists in Jackson County, and there’s no telling _what_ they would’ve done to you if they caught you first, wearing the face of a _Winchester_. They do miss daddy-Lucifer so,” Zachariah mock-pouts. “They would’ve had a field day!” he laughs.  
  
On second thought, Dean’s glad the man is alive in this world, because he’s going to enjoy having the chance to kill him again.

  
  
The next time Dean comes-to, he’s still in the cabin, bound by his wrists to the piping again, but he feels different. Better. Not like he’s going to pass out at any second. A couple more moments of consciousness and Dean recognizes the familiar buzz of stabilizers in his system. Sure enough, a quick glance at his arm shows the tell-tale pinprick of needles in his skin.  
  
A few _more_ moments, and Dean registers the low murmuring coming from the other side of the room, and looks up to see Castiel standing by the door, talking to a woman holding a medical kit. She’s tiny, much shorter than Castiel, with short auburn hair and plain features, but not unattractive. Dean’s never seen her before, but the way Castiel hovers around her implies an… _intimacy_ … that Dean doesn’t quite know how to react to. He knows he doesn’t have any right to be jealous, but the familiarity Castiel treats this woman with leaves Dean a little stunned. The Cas he knew was hopeless with women.  
  
But then again, this isn’t the Cas he knew.  
  
“Thank you, Daphne,” Castiel says, finally ushering the woman out of the cabin when he sees Dean is awake.  
  
“So…” Dean clears his throat uncomfortably, “Who’s the girl?”  
  
Castiel spares him a disdainful glance as he crosses the room to the table, sitting down to examine Dean’s belongings. When he tries to turn Dean’s phone on, it doesn’t work, its battery already long dead.  
  
“Not that it’s any of your business,” Castiel mutters, not looking up, “But she’s my wife.”  
  
“Your _wife…”_ Dean echoes in shock, the word punched out of him along with his breath. He’d suspected _something,_ but not _that._ He still doesn’t know how to react, but whatever he’s feeling, it makes the hollow ache in Dean’s chest sink right down into a pit in his stomach.  
  
He’d hoped… Well he didn’t know exactly _what_ he’d hoped, but he’d _hoped_.  
  
Maybe he’d hoped he’d seen _something_ in Castiel’s eyes. That there was a _reason_ Castiel let him see his brother. A reason Castiel saved his brother in the first place.  
  
He’d hoped that what _his_ Cas told him was true – that he would always love Dean, no matter what.  
  
But this Castiel is _married._ And seeing Sam was just part of Zachariah’s illusion. A test. His brother could still be dead in this world as well, for all he knows. Dean wonders if he even really saw that flash of… _something_ … in Castiel’s eyes at all.  
  
“Cas,” Dean whispers, his heart aching for any sign, any similarity between this Castiel and his own.  
  
Castiel’s eyes narrow slightly in response, but he still doesn’t look up, busying himself with finding an appropriate charger for Dean’s phone.  
  
“Cas, please,” Dean pleads, though he doesn’t know what for. To let Dean touch him? Hold him? Lay hands on him just so Dean can prove to himself that he’s really there? Real, and alive? Make him _Dean’s_ again?  
  
By the rigid line of Castiel’s back, Dean can tell that won’t go over well. The Castiel of this Universe seems so harsh and unyielding, much colder even than his own Cas was when they first met. His Cas had been a real dick at first, but he’d softened the more time they’d spent together. Enough to let Dean get past his defences, and make him believe that the cause Dean was fighting for was just. That mutants and humans could live together in peace. Enough to make him rebel against Michael, to fight by Dean’s side, to love him, and ultimately sacrifice his life for him.  
  
Dean has to remind himself that this Castiel may never have done any of those things.  
  
He wonders how someone can change so completely from one world to the next. If whatever it was that made _his_ Cas fall in love with him simply doesn’t exist here.  
  
“Cas, did we even know each other here at all?” Dean asks quietly.  
  
Castiel finally gives up on the phone, heaving a put-upon sigh and looking up.  
  
“Alright,” Castiel says, levelling him with a glare. “Let’s say I believe you, for argument’s sake. That you came here from a parallel universe, to escape Lucifer’s blast. Then _what_ exactly set the blast off in your world?”  
  
“Uh, okay,” Dean replies, more than willing to play along. Anything to break this stalemate. “I’m guessing it was a lot like what happened in this world. Lucifer tried to use Sam to amplify his power enough to fight Michael, but Sam couldn’t control it. And the effect on Lucifer’s powers… It didn’t end well. For anyone. Lucifer included. Serves him right, the bastard,” he adds lowly.   
  
“Alright,” Castiel nods, “But what set Sam off in the first place? I can’t imagine he went to help Lucifer willingly.”  
  
“Well… yes and no,” Dean hedges. “Chuck had a vision. Of me. Lying dead at Michael’s feet.”  
  
“So Sam went to Lucifer to help destroy Michael. Yes, that’s what happened here,” Castiel says. “But how did Sam’s powers become so unstable?”  
  
Dean sighs heavily. “It was Adam.”  
  
“Adam?” Castiel asks, brows furrowing further. “Yes, you mentioned him earlier. Who was he?”  
  
“He was our half-brother,” Dean replies.  
  
“Your half-brother,” Castiel echoes. “No. The Winchesters never had a half-brother.”  
  
“Maybe not in this world,” Dean shrugs. “Or maybe Michael never found him here. I don’t know.”  
  
“Michael was looking for him? Why?” Castiel asks.  
  
“Because Adam’s mutation allowed him to change his appearance, and he needed Adam to look like me,” Dean explains.  
  
“He was a shape-shifter,” Castiel says flatly.  
  
“Yes. No!” Dean blurts, suddenly realizing how suspicious that sounds when he’s still suspected of being a shape-shifter himself. They might start thinking _he’s_ Adam. “Okay, I know it sounds bad, but just let me explain,” Dean pleads.  
  
Castiel narrows his eyes, considering him for a moment, before leaning back in his chair and nodding. “Start from the beginning,” he says.  
  
“Right. Okay,” Dean nods, taking a deep breath to regroup his thoughts. He’s going to have to explain himself pretty well for Castiel to believe he is who he says he is. It would help his credibility if the Dean in this world had a similar life to his own, but Dean’s also curious to know what’s different enough that the world ended up like this.  
  
“Okay,” he begins. “See, Michael knew that Sam would lose control of his power under a certain amount of stress. Hell, that’s how we knew Sam was a mutant in the first place. When he was a baby, a sensor named Lilith picked up on Sam’s ability to augment other mutants’ powers, so a firestarter called Azazel broke into our house one night to find out exactly what Sam could do – whether it was worth anything or not. But then mom walked in, and yeah… Azazel killed her. And the stress on Sam shot Azazel’s power so out of control, it burned down half the house.”  
  
Castiel doesn’t say anything to this, so Dean can only assume things happened the same way in this world. He continues.  
  
“When Sam was away at college Azazel found him again, killed Sam’s girlfriend Jess. The whole building would’ve burned down if I hadn’t got to Sam in time to neutralize his power.” Dean heaves a sigh. “Her death was real hard on Sam. He never really let himself get close to anyone, see. His mutation may enhance other mutants powers, but sometimes prolonged exposure to humans actually starts to _create_ mutation. And she seemed to be immune.”  
  
Castiel remains silent, still watching Dean with narrowed eyes, so Dean takes his silence as a cue to keep going. “Sam left college after that to help me and dad track Azazel down. We spent most of our lives trying to find Azazel. Most of the time we just put down other mutants that got out of control, giving the rest of us a bad name. Dad was human but he did the best he could to protect us. He had to leave us alone a lot when we were younger when things got too dangerous, so I practically raised Sam. I guess it was one of those times when Dad was away that he met Adam’s mom…” Dean trails off. Castiel frowns, but still doesn’t interrupt.  
  
“Anyway, we’re pretty sure now that they kept coming after Sam to test him, to see how strong he’d gotten. We think they’d been setting up all kinds of stress tests, but Sam reacted the most when someone close to him was threatened. That’s why they sent Ruby. Real snake. Shed her skin and all. She had a similar power to mine, except instead of _healing_ mutation I think she just supressed it. So she was immune to Sam’s mutation as well. She got under Sam’s skin and practically delivered him to Lucifer on a silver platter,” Dean sighs again.  
  
“When that happened, Michael grabbed me, told me it was for safekeeping as a last defence to neutralize Sam’s power if he couldn’t stop Lucifer himself. But the longer he kept me captive, we realized that Michael _wanted_ Lucifer’s powers amplified. He _wanted_ the world to burn. So that afterwards, when he offered the government protection and order out of the chaos, they would _beg_ him to take over.”  
  
Dean looks up at Castiel then, expecting the man to take some kind of offence to Dean’s implied assessment of the current regime. But Castiel seems unsurprised, and Dean wonders just how much Castiel knows, how far the similarities between their worlds go. He feels that tiny thing in his chest daring to hope again.  
  
“So if he already _had_ you, why didn’t he _use_ you then? Why bother with a shape-shifter at all?” Castiel asks.  
  
“When we realized what was going on, you helped me escape, and we ran – You, me and Sam,” Dean explains. “You helped us, kept us off Michael’s radar so he could never find us, kept us one step ahead and protected us... You gave up everything for me, Cas. You were my best friend, you were family, you were my--”  
  
“ _Don’t_ ,” Castiel hisses, abruptly standing from his chair, and that _look_ flickers across his face once more – that crack in his stone facade.  
  
As Castiel sweeps out of the room, Dean feels himself lurching forward against his bonds again, as if he could pry the crack open with his hands and find _his_ Cas under this obstinate and unfamiliar exterior.

 


	4. chapter three

  
_Castiel dreams of a world where he isn’t “encouraged” to marry Daphne after he is made a Commander. Where his suspicious and ever-vigilant superiors do not require that he solidify his position in the new world order even further by proving his emotional stability and happiness in a new relationship as well._   
  
_Of course, in this world he dreams of, Castiel’s every move isn’t being watched and monitored, and he doesn’t have to do whatever it takes to survive. So he has no reason to marry her. Castiel is grateful to her, and he does feel some affection for her, but he can’t love her the way she deserves._   
  
_Sometimes Castiel dreams of a world where he lands somewhere else after Stull Cemetery, and it’s Meg who finds him instead. There was always some kind of spark between him and the mutant from Lucifer’s faction, and given the right conditions, that spark flares into something hot and wild. But he still doesn’t love her like he should._   
  
_Sometimes it will be Castiel who is dead instead of Dean, or perhaps Castiel never met Dean at all, or only briefly, and Castiel will find Dean in the arms of another – Lisa, Cassie, Benny – though he never seems to love as strongly as Castiel knows he’s capable of. But as long as Dean is alive and safe and somewhat content, Castiel thinks it might be better that way._   
  
_But in most worlds, Castiel meets Dean on a Thursday, in the depths of Lucifer’s base of operations, otherwise known as The Pit.  Dean has been captured by one of Lucifer’s most notorious interrogators, Alastair, in an attempt to coerce Sam into joining Lucifer’s side. And unwilling to risk someone with Sam’s power in the enemy’s hands, Michael orders his forces to raid Lucifer’s headquarters._   
  
_It takes several of Michael’s faction infiltrate Alastair’s torture pit, and they lose many. But it’s Castiel who manages to find Dean and pull him from The Pit, half-conscious and body half-torn apart, but with a heart that fights to survive from the strength of his will alone._   
  
_So, yes, there may be others that Castiel has grown fond of, seeking comfort or companionship or whatever else there may be in their embrace. But from the moment Castiel first laid a hand on Dean in that dark, grimy hell, he was lost._

  
  
They arrive at “R &D” early in the morning, most likely transferring Dean under the cover of night to protect his identity as much as possible. At first Dean is confused when they arrive at what looks like an old office building for Sucrocorp, but when they descend into the building’s lower levels, he discovers that there are extensive research facilities underground. A little _too_ extensive for such a seemingly innocuous office building. But it just confirms Dean’s suspicions that most corporations are evil anyway.  
  
Under a shroud of silence Dean is led down several winding corridors, through numerous locked security doors, further and further into the depths of the building. There are almost too many turns to remember, but his daddy trained him good, so Dean always makes sure to know where the exits are, and exactly how to get to them. The building seems deserted, almost bizarrely barren of life save for Dean and his escort, but Dean sees the security cameras sweeping the hallways, and he knows better.  
  
Finally they reach their destination – a closed-off area with its own guard sitting at the desk outside. Inside appears to be some kind of cell-block, doors lining each side of the corridor with small observation windows made of thick-panelled glass. As Dean is led past he sees a few faces peering at him from behind the windows. He thinks he even recognizes a power-draining mutant with tattoos along her arms. But the thick mass of dark curls Dean remembers is mottled and tangled, and her already fair skin is almost sickly pale.  
  
“Please! Please help me!” she calls out, though Dean can barely hear her through the thick glass. “You gotta get me out of here. Please! You gotta get me out of here!”  
  
“Keep moving,” one of the guards growls, shoving him forward.  
  
They take Dean to the door at the very end of the corridor, and when he’s shoved inside he finds that yes, it _is_ a prison cell, complete with a bed and a toilet and padded walls. As they lock the door behind him, Dean snorts with incredulity once again, because what kind of corporation has its own prison cells? And they’re good prison cells too. Well maintained. He can’t find a single loose nail or bed-spring or pipe to use as a weapon or lock-pick.  
  
Dean collapses back on the mattress and resigns himself to getting some sleep. There’s no telling what kind of _“further examination”_ they’ll put him through tomorrow.  
  
“Shifter! Hey, shifter!”  
  
“Oh for the love of… You all need to get into your heads to stop calling me that,” Dean grouses, rolling his eyes. But when he looks around, no one’s there. Not even at the window.  
  
“Just calling it like I see it, brother,” the voice says.  
  
“What the…?” Dean whips around, startled, because the voice sounds like it’s coming from _inside_ his head, and Dean’s only ever known one person who could do that. But it doesn’t sound like Bobby. It sounds like… “Benny?”  
  
The voice seems surprised to be recognized. Well, the presence that the voice belongs to does anyway.  
  
“Uh… Benny? How are you in my head?” Dean asks, confused.  
  
“I drained a telepath before they locked me up in here, and it hasn’t all left my system yet,” Benny explains. “Don’t tell anyone, though. The guards haven’t quite caught on yet,” he adds, and Dean picks up the familiar smirk in Benny’s tone.  
  
“Huh,” Dean nods. That makes sense. The Benny from his own world could siphon off other mutants’ powers too, and use them for a little while, depending on how strong the power was or how much he drained. If he took too much though, he could end up killing them. But the Benny from his world had stopped doing that a long time ago. Well. Desperate times, Dean guesses.  
  
“Hey, it wasn’t an old guy in a wheelchair and a trucker cap, was it?” Dean narrows his eyes. He’s not sure if Benny even knows who Bobby is in this world. Bobby might have died in the blast before they got the chance to meet.  
  
There’s a pause, in which Dean gets the distinct impression of a confused frown, before Benny answers, “If you’re talking about Bobby Singer, I heard he died in the blast.”  
  
“Yeah,” Dean sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face. “I guess he did.”  
  
“Besides, it was some uppity bureaucrat type. But she turned herself into diamond before I could do any real damage,” Benny explains.  
  
“Okay,” Dean nods. “So where are you right now?”  
  
“Look across the hall,” Benny says. Dean gets up off his cot and goes to the door. In the dim light from the hallway Dean can see Benny’s face in the window directly across from his own.  
  
“Man, it’s good to see you,” Dean grins.  
  
“You too, I suppose…” Benny says hesitantly.  
  
“It’s me, Benny,” Dean sighs wearily. “It’s really me, but from a different world than this. I know it sounds crazy, but, if you’re in my head you can look around and see that I’m telling you the truth.”  
  
Benny frowns. “Are you sure?”  
  
“Just… be careful,” Dean says, bracing himself. This kind of thing can be dangerous if done wrong, but it’s not like he has much else of a choice.  
  
Benny nods, closing his eyes in concentration. Dean sits down as he feels a familiar tingling sensation probing the edges of his mind, willing himself to relax and open himself up to it. It’s not as focused or as thorough as when Bobby used to do it, but it seems to be effective nonetheless, if Benny’s expression afterwards is any indication.  
  
“Okay, I believe you,” Benny says, confused but grinning at the same time. Dean grins back. Benny never lets him down.  
  
“If only it were that easy for every for everyone else,” Dean huffs.  
  
“…Castiel?” Benny says.  
  
Dean heaves another sigh, not even bothering to reply. Benny’s seen what’s on his mind.  
  
“What is this place, Benny?” he asks instead.  
  
“High level research and development,” Benny explains. “From what I’ve gathered? They’re rounding up any mutants that can manipulate other mutants’ abilities – drainers, neutralizers, enhancers, mimics, channels – anyone who can affect what you’ve already got, and studying how that works. It’s dangerous business, brother.”  
  
Dean nods. This is exactly the kind of thing they’d feared would result from the Mutant Registration Act. It seems that in both worlds there’s demand for mutants who can augment other mutants’ powers. It’s always about power. And there’s only so far a silver-tongue can go to recruit powerful mutants to one cause or another. Why recruit power when you can just find a way to enhance your own? And the Mutant Registration Act provides an easy way to track down mutants like Dean and examine exactly how to go about doing that.  
  
Castiel probably doesn’t even care if Dean’s really who he says he is at all.

  
  
“ _Further examination_ ” is worse than Dean thought it would be. Some of it’s expected, like being strapped to an examination bed for hours while Castiel runs endless tests on him, poking him with needles over and over again and running the bloodwork through numerous machines, examining the data with an ever-present frown on his face. But Dean thought there would be more interrogation at least. More curiosity about his identity or his world, even if Castiel thinks he’s lying or deluded or crazy. Instead, Dean’s worst fears are confirmed. Castiel doesn’t seem to care if he is who he says he is in the slightest.  
  
Dean supposes he’s lucky he hasn’t been tortured yet, but he still wants to scream his lungs out. Castiel will hardly even _look_ at him, even when he has to ask Dean to do basic things like, “look up at the flashlight, please,” or, “stick your tongue out, please,” or, “clench your hand into a fist, please,” when Castiel wants to take his blood. It’s the “please” that hurts the most, the formality of it creating even more distance between them than if Castiel had just barked orders out at him.  
  
The times his own Cas had given him the silent treatment weren’t nearly as bad, not even the times when he’d been so fed up with Dean, their arguments had come to blows. Because at least then Dean knew that Cas cared, that Dean meant something to him. More than the total stranger Castiel is treating him like now.  
  
And he knows that in a way, they _are_ strangers. He knows this Castiel isn’t really _his_ Cas. But he needs this Castiel to _acknowledge_ him at least. Maybe then Dean can find out why this world turned out so differently. Why this _Castiel_ is so different. And if there's any chance Dean can make it right. It hurts to see Castiel like this – going through the motions, completely closed off – a pale shadow of the person Dean knows he can be.  
  
“Aren’t you going to interrogate me anymore? Don’t you need to ask me things to prove I’m really me?”  
  
Castiel huffs an annoyed sigh. “Things like what?”  
  
“I don’t know, things about my past? About us? Like how we met? How we became--“  
  
Castiel gives him a sharp look and Dean swallows down the rest of his sentence.  
  
“… How we became friends?” he says instead.  
  
“What would be the point?” Castiel replies, not even bothering to look away from his strange perpendicular computer screen. “Anyone from the Resistance could have provided you with that information. And if you got anything wrong you would simply claim it’s because it was different in your world.”  
  
Dean frowns. “I suppose you’re right,” he concedes. “But can’t you admit that it’s at least _possible?_ I mean, can’t you use your halo to sense that I’m from a different world or something?  
  
Castiel spares him a glare. “That’s not how it works.”  
  
“Well, I don’t know. How does it work then?” Dean asks.  
  
Castiel snorts. “You expect me to believe you are who you say you are, and that we’re… _friends…_ But that I never told you how my power works?”  
  
And that stings. Because for the life of him Dean still can’t work out why Cas never told him.  
  
“I don’t know why you never told me. The only time you ever kept anything from me was to protect me. But I don’t see what’s dangerous about it.”  
  
Castiel looks at him thoughtfully for a moment. “There _are_ dangers,” he finally replies quietly. As he turns back to his desk, Dean sees him glance briefly at the security camera in the far corner.  
  
Dean looks up at the small camera, trying to work out if it’s picking up audio as well as visual. It looks like it’s only visual, but the technology is just different enough that he can’t be one hundred percent sure. And if Castiel is trying to keep the full extent of his abilities under wraps for some reason, Dean probably won’t be doing himself any favors by being the one to out Castiel’s secret.  
  
“Can they hear us?” he murmurs under his breath.  
  
“No,” Castiel replies.  
  
“Okay,” Dean exhales in relief. “So explain it to me then,” he shrugs. “I get that you use your wings for normal teleporting, but the only time I ever saw your halo was when you sent me here. So what, is your halo a different thing or an extra level of power or something?”  
  
“Something like that,” Castiel answers, though he doesn’t turn away from his screen.  
  
Dean’s brows furrow in thought as he tries to consider the logistics involved in something like that. “So how do you know where to go?”  
  
“Excuse me?” Castiel frowns.  
  
“Do you just… make the jump and hope for the best?”  
  
“Of course not,” Castiel huffs. “I have visions.”  
  
“…Visions,” Dean echoes. “Like Chuck’s?”  
  
“No, not waking visions. Mine only occur during sleep. Like dreams,” Castiel explains.  
  
“Uh…” Dean’s frown deepens. “Then how do you know they’re not just dreams then? I mean, no offence, but I’ve had some pretty damn vivid dreams, you know?”  
  
“Yes, but, no matter how vivid the dream, they are still limited. You can’t count or read in dreams. And you can only dream faces of people you’ve seen in real life.”  
  
“Okay, I’ll give you that,” Dean concedes. “But how did you work out you could actually _go_ to those places?”  
  
“It was Balthazar who worked it out. He sensed I might be able to access other dimensions. Apparently it’s similar to what he does to access different clones of himself,” Castiel explains.  
  
“Huh. So have you ever met any other versions of yourself?” Dean asks. “Of me?” he adds tentatively. Surely if there were anything between them in this world, Castiel would have tried to find him again when he died.  
  
Dean sees Castiel’s jaw clenching. “No,” he grits out.  
  
Dean feels that hopeful thing in his chest shatter. He suddenly has the horrible thought that maybe his world is the only one where Cas loved him. Then what reason would _this_ Castiel have to ever leave _this_ world?  
  
“Wait,” Dean frowns suddenly, “Have you even tried leaving at all?”  
  
When Castiel doesn’t answer, it’s because Dean knows he’s right.  
  
“Aren’t you at least _curious?_ ” Dean asks incredulously.  
  
“Of course I am.”  
  
“Then why the hell not?”  
  
“Because I told you, it’s dangerous!” Castiel snaps. “There are dimensions out there full of terrible things – beings of immense power! What if one of them got through! Or what if I remained trapped there, unable to return! Using that power requires considerable control. I could be lost among the dimensions forever.”  
  
“But there are ways to train for control,” Dean says. Bobby may not be around anymore, but Dean’s sure Castiel could find _someone_ to help him. “And there have to be better places than here, right?”  
  
“ _Better_ can be dangerous too,” Castiel grinds out, fingers clenched around the edge of the desk.  
  
“But wouldn’t it be worth the risk?” Dean fires back. “You can’t tell me you like it here!”  
  
“What makes you think I don’t?”  
  
“Look at you, Cas. You’re miserable. And don’t tell me you aren’t, because I know the kind of man you could be. What we could be _together_. This isn’t the way it’s supposed to be.”  
  
“I told you,” Castiel hisses, pushing away from his desk, “ _don’t_ call me that.”  
  
This time Castiel doesn’t even bother giving Dean one last glare as he storms out of the lab.

  
  
It’s late. Not late enough to be called early, but late enough that everyone else is asleep. Dean is lying on his side in bed, spooned up against Cas’ back and lazily stroking his fingers through Cas’ wings from behind.  
  
“I don’t trust him.”  
  
“Hmm? Who?” Cas murmurs sleepily. Dean’s fingers tighten in Cas’ feathers.  
  
“Crowley. I don’t trust him. You know he’s only helping because he thinks we can get rid of Lucifer for him.”  
  
“Isn’t that a good thing?” Cas asks, confused.  
  
“Yeah, but he’ll turn on us as soon as he gets what he wants.”  
  
“Then we will just have to be vigilant,” Cas says. “Perhaps more training wouldn’t hurt.”  
  
“Hmm,” Dean grunts in response, resuming his slow strokes through Cas’ wings. They were too tired to fool around that night, but too wired to sleep, so Cas had let his wings loose for Dean to give them a thorough grooming, while they talked about anything and everything on their minds.  
  
“That’s not all you’re worried about is it?” Cas says a few minutes later, picking up on Dean’s mood.  
  
“It’s Benny,” Dean sighs. “He and Andrea had a real bad fight this time.”  
  
“Hmm,” Cas hums in sympathy, and Dean appreciates it. Cas and Benny have always been a bit rocky, but at least Cas respects Dean’s friendship with the other man. “I wouldn’t worry about it too much though, Dean. You know they always work through it.”  
  
“True,” Dean shrugs. “There’s no one more in love than those two.”  
  
“… No one?” Cas arches an eyebrow.  
  
“Well, maybe someone,” Dean smirks, nipping at Cas’ ear. Cas chuckles lazily, squirming away, but Dean tightens his grip, pulling Cas close again.  
  
It doesn’t seem to work though. Cas doesn’t settle in Dean’s arms like he should. Instead Cas seems to wriggle further and further away, and no matter how hard Dean tries to grab onto him, he just can’t seem to reach. His hands only find bedsheets, more and more of them until he’s tangled up in them, choking and gasping for air as they strangle him, holding him back until he can’t see Cas at all.  
  
“ _Cas!_ ” Dean cries out, lurching awake with his hands twisted in the sheets of his cot.  
  
“You okay, brother?” Benny’s voice asks in his head.  
  
Dean scrubs a hand down his face, trying to shake off the dream as he pulls himself up to sit on the edge of his cot. He has to take more than a few deep breaths before he can speak again. And when he does, it’s with bone-tired exhaustion.  
  
“Hey Benny? What happened to Andrea?” Dean asks him. “Where is she now?”  
  
There’s a long moment of silence at that, filled with too many emotions for Dean to parse out. And none of them good. There’s a lot of pain there, in which Dean picks up on some anger and regret, but mostly, that all-too-familiar feeling of loss and grief.  
  
“I’m sorry, Benny,” Dean says.  
  
“Yeah, so am I,” Benny says.  
  
“You don’t have to talk about it. I’m sorry I brought it up.”  
  
“Nah, it’s okay. I should talk about it. Besides I get the feeling you need the company right now.”  
  
“Yeah, you got that right,” Dean huffs a low chuckle. “So what happened?”  
  
Benny sighs. “We were living a good life, you know? We didn’t draw any attention to ourselves, kept under the radar and stayed out of trouble. Just went about our own business…”  
  
Dean nods. That’s how Benny and Andrea lived in Dean’s world too. And they were happy.  
  
“But after the blast, the fighting escalated, and it got harder and harder for Andrea to turn a blind eye to it. She wasn’t content to just stand by while things got worse out there, and she wanted to go join the Resistance and do something about it. We fought about it all the time. She wanted me to go with her, and I just wanted her to stay with me and be safe. But then…” Benny chokes off, a wave of emotion overwhelming him again.  
  
“Benny?” Dean calls out tentatively.  
  
“I lost her, Dean,” Benny sobs. “She just up and left one day, joined my old team. And by the time I pulled myself together and went after her, she’d already died in the fighting.”  
  
“Jesus, Benny,” Dean exhales. “I’m so sorry,” he murmurs, shocked as well as saddened by the story. Benny and Andrea were so in love. The kind of love Dean thought could survive anything. But maybe he was wrong.

  
  
“So…” Dean begins, watching Castiel’s every movement from where he’s strapped down on the examination table again, though Castiel still seems intent on ignoring him.  
  
He’s given up on his running commentary already, trying to convince Castiel he’s telling the truth while subtly prodding him for information about this world. The whole morning has been like pulling teeth trying to get anything out of Castiel. And Dean is aware of the irony of that, given that _he_ is the one strapped to an examination table. It’s not that Cas won’t talk to him, but that he’ll barely offer Dean more than the most basic answers. And without knowing the right questions to ask in the first place, Dean’s getting nowhere.  
  
Dean heaves a sigh. He doesn’t even want to think about it, but it’s been eating at him ever since he found out, and he no longer has anything else left to ask.  
  
“Tell me something, _Castiel_ ,” Dean says, the formality of it uncomfortable on his tongue. But Castiel has made it clear that he doesn’t like the shortened version of his name. “You and Daphne… How did that happen?”  
  
Castiel makes a little huffing noise at that, but evidently he decides the information is harmless. “After the blast,” he explains, “she found me and cared for me.”  
  
“Huh,” Dean huffs at the short and bare-boned answer. Yet another one. But maybe this one isn’t meant to be harmless at all, maybe this time Castiel is making a point, because this time the reply gnaws at him even more.  
  
Briefly he thinks that if he really did die in this world, he’s glad someone was there to tend to Castiel and look after him. But the aching hollow in his chest doesn’t let him believe that, not even when he knows it might be better for everyone if he did.  
  
“Stop looking at me like that,” Castiel growls quietly, though the man’s still resolutely staring at the data on his screen.  
  
“Like what?” Dean nearly laughs. “Like I know you? Intimately? Like I know exactly how you like to be touched? And where? The way your wings like to be groomed?”  
  
Castiel gasps involuntarily at that, and Dean can practically see his wings twitching against his back. He wonders how long it’s been since Cas has let his wings loose at all. He has a feeling it’s been a long time.  
  
“I know what you sound like when you come, _Cas_ , and the sounds you make in your sleep. And I know the way you growled at me just now means how I’m looking at you is a lot more distracting than you’re letting on.”  
  
Castiel shoots up from his chair then, rounding on Dean with a glare. “If you’re really who you say you are, then you can tell me where the bunker is,” Castiel snaps, striding towards him.  
  
“…What?” he stammers, thrown by the abrupt change in topic. “Cas…” he frowns in confusion at the question.  
  
But then Dean suddenly realizes that unlike _his_ Cas, _this_ Castiel really doesn’t know where the bunker is. Otherwise they wouldn’t still be interrogating people for the information, like Chuck told him at Camp Chitaqua.  
  
“So you _don’t_ know where it is,” Castiel narrows his eyes with a scrutinizing glint.  
  
“Come on, Cas,” Dean hedges. “If you know anything about me at all, you’d know that I wouldn’t just give that information away.”  
  
“Hmm. Convenient,” Castiel hums, returning to his desk.  
  
Dean bangs his head back on the table in frustration, wanting to scream again.

  
  
Cas is sprawled across his chest, passed out mid-sentence, exhausted after his training with Bobby. Dean can just barely hear his soft snores over the low volume of the television, its light flickering through the dark of the bunker library and illuminating Cas’ face, open mouthed and drooling. It’s hilarious. And adorable. Though Dean would never admit something like that out loud. But he has no qualms about digging into his pocket for his phone, and taking a picture.  
  
“Dean?” Cas mumbles groggily, awoken by the sound. “Are you taking pictures of me in my sleep again?” he frowns – more like pouts really – rubbing at his eyes in a way that’s absolutely not even more endearing, and absolutely does not make Dean wish he was taking a video instead.  
  
“Bobby really worked you hard tonight, huh?” Dean says, changing the subject as he subtly returns his phone to his back pocket.  
  
“Mmm-hmm,” Cas replies around a yawn, blinking up at him. “It’s worth it, though. It could mean the difference between life and death someday,” he says, his gaze suddenly weighted with seriousness.  
  
“Well, good,” Dean says softly, tracing his fingers through Cas’ sleep-flattened hair. “Nothing better happen to you, Cas. I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he adds quietly, sleepiness letting the admission loose from his lips.  
  
“Dean…” Cas murmurs, reaching up to stroke Dean’s cheek.  
  
Dean buries his face into Castiel’s palm, pressing a kiss there. He knows Cas gets it. He can tell from the _look_ Cas gives him then – so full of heartache and sadness, love and protection. Dean’s lost so much already. The number of people he can rely on and trust enough to call friends dwindles every year, with every battle. And what’s left of his family is even smaller. Dean _has_ to hang on to what he’s got, as tight as he can  
  
“I can’t keep losing the people I care about, Cas. I don’t want to be the last man standing,” he whispers.  
  
“That won’t happen, Dean, I swear to you,” Cas says, gently turning Dean’s face to look at him again. I will do everything in make power to make sure of it. You will _never_ be alone,” he says, the certainty in his eyes unfaltering and reassuring.  
  
“Cas…” Dean murmurs, but Cas doesn’t let him saying anything more, leaning forward to seal the promise with a kiss.  
  
Dean holds him close, returning the kiss soft and grateful against Cas’ lips, languid and long until Cas’ yawns break their lips apart again.  
  
“Come on, sleepyhead. Let’s get you to bed,” he murmurs fondly, helping Cas up off the couch. The walk back to their room is a slow one, sleepy and comfortable with Cas under his arm, tucked into his side, shuffling through the bunker’s many hallways. Dean barely has to lookup up to navigate the way anymore, each turn now so familiar he thinks he even falls asleep a little himself as they walk. But when he reaches forward to open their bedroom door, Dean finds the way locked.  
  
He opens his eyes in confusion, already trying to twist the handle again, but it’s not his bedroom door in front of him. It’s a prison cell door, with a small window made of thick panelled glass. And when Dean whirls around he no longer sees the bunker’s familiar halls, but his tiny cell at Sucrocorp. And where Cas should be, tucked warm against his side, Dean is alone, wrapped up in nothing but the cold sheets of his cot.  
  
Dean pushes himself up on the mattress, leaning back against the wall of his cell and heaving a sigh.  
  
What he wouldn’t give to be back there, safe in the bunker, with Cas in his arms. Though he knows it’s impossible. Even if he _could_ get back to his own world somehow, Cas would be gone. Everyone would be gone.  
  
But at least if he had the power to jump to another world, he could find one where Cas loves him again. A perfect world, where Sam is alive too, Bobby, Ellen, Jo, his dad, his mom… Hell, everyone he’s ever cared about.  
  
Dean chuckles disparagingly.  
  
Does that world even exist? And if it does, what would be the chances of finding it? How many times would he have to jump?  
  
However many times it takes.  
  
Dean knows he would.  
  
Maybe that’s why his Cas never told him about it. Because he knew Dean, and he knew the temptation would be too great. He knew what Dean would go through to see even _one_ of the people he’d lost again. But the chance at having them all back again? One could go mad trying to find a better world… and then the next better world… and the next. Cas knew he could lose Dean to it.  
  
Hell, Dean still doesn’t know if the Castiel in this world ever loved him at all. But if Dean knew how to make it happen, he would.  
  
He would keep going until he found it. The right sequence of events, the perfect combination of moments… _Anything_ to find what he once had again.

 


	5. chapter four

  
_Castiel dreams of a night with Dean, one of many spent on the run from Raphael and Michael’s forces, but like no other. Sam isn’t with them on this night, having retreated to the bunker, needing a safe place to recover physically and emotionally from the fallout of Ruby’s betrayal, and their subsequent capture and escape. Castiel had gone with Dean in the opposite direction, to throw Michael and Lucifer off the trail, finding an abandoned house to hunker down in for a while. But exactly how they end up at a brothel is beyond Castiel’s remembering.  
  
He has a vague recollection of a highly awkward conversation, during which he may have revealed his total and complete inexperience with intimate relations. But everything in between leaving the safety of that old rickety house, and finding himself sitting in a brothel amongst scantily clad women, passes in numb dread – so paralyzing that Castiel barely even tastes the entire jug of beer he consumes, its liquid courage wasted on him._  
  
_There is a woman, pretty and pleasing, and fittingly named Chastity, though Castiel can’t find the humor in that. Not when he’s near frozen with anxiety and nerves. He considers running, grabbing Dean and flying away… But then he remembers that Dean brought him here to help him, so that Castiel can experience something that Dean and so many others find enjoyable. And for the sake of their friendship, Castiel wants to try._  
  
_He lets Chastity sit him down on the edge of her bed, lets her climb into his lap and press up against him. He’s still not sure he understands the appeal, but he trusts Dean, and if Dean says it’s something worth experiencing, then Castiel will keep letting her. She presses closer, her breath hot and moist against his neck, her arms twining around his shoulders, but Castiel still doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He imagines Dean would know exactly what to do, how to touch and feel and trace every inch of bared skin, how to move together, press and pull and… then Chastity’s teeth close around Castiel’s earlobe, and his wings instantly explode, ripping into existence so suddenly, Chastity screams in fright. She scrambles off his lap, eyeing Castiel’s wings with horror as she runs from the room._  
  
_Her horror chills Castiel to the core, reminding him exactly why he never allows himself to be close to anyone in the first place. He tries to pull himself together, shrouding his wings again before anyone else sees, but it’s too late. Dean comes running at the sound of Chastity’s screams, and when he sees Castiel’s wings he stumbles in his tracks, jaw dropping at the sight._  
  
_“Well,” Dean grins, “I guess ‘wing-job’ wasn’t on the menu,” he chuckles._  
  
_Castiel releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, before Dean grabs onto him, and they make a hasty retreat._  
  
_“Is that why you’ve never been with anyone before? Because of your wings?” Dean asks when they return to the abandoned house they’ve been hiding in._  
  
_“Yes,” Castiel replies quietly. “It’s difficult to control them, and most humans do not react well to such an obvious mutation. You yourself saw Chastity’s reaction tonight,” he explains, his shrouded wings bristling against his back._  
  
_“But what about other mutants?” Dean presses._  
  
_“Most of the mutants I’ve known were my family,” Castiel replies. “And as for the rest, I suppose my wings were simply too… unappealing,” he says, feeling his wings flatten around himself. It’s true. His wings are ugly. So black that they suck in the very light around them, like a dark, empty void._  
  
_“That’s bullshit,” Dean snarls. “You’re wings are amazing, Cas, and don’t let nobody tell you anything different,” he says, indignant anger in his eyes. “I mean, I thought I was imagining things the first few times I saw them ‘cause they were just… just…” Dean shakes his head, at a loss for words. When he looks up to meet Castiel’s eyes again, his anger suddenly deflates with an huffed exhale. “Show them to me,” Dean asks urgently, stepping forward to grip his arms._  
  
_“What?” Castiel balks in surprise, trying to step back but not able to go anywhere in Dean’s tight grip._  
  
_“Please,” Dean says, nothing but earnest determination in his eyes._  
  
_Castiel finds his wings unfolding before he even makes the decision, flaring into existence from their plane of invisibility. Castiel can’t remember the last time he purposely unsheathed his wings in front of another person, and they tremble and twitch nervously under Dean’s gaze._  
  
_“They’re so black,” Dean breathes, his grip going slack around Castiel’s arms.  And though Dean’s voice is filled with awe, Castiel can’t help it, he cringes at the words. But Dean doesn’t stop there, telling Castiel in a reverent whisper that, “It’s like looking at the night sky. Like the entire Universe is in your wings. They’re beautiful, Cas.”_  
  
_Castiel feels a warmth spread through him at that, though he doesn’t know whether it’s from Dean’s words or Dean’s body, standing so close to his own. Dean’s hands find their grip again, squeezing Castiel’s shoulders and drawing his gaze upward, to find Dean’s eyes not on his wings anymore, but on his face, eyes searching his own._  
  
_“You’re beau--” Dean begins to say, but Castiel lurches forward, covering Dean’s mouth with his own, and stealing the words from his very lips._  
  
_Did Chastity kiss him like this? Castiel can’t remember. But soon he doesn’t care. Nothing before this matters. No kiss before could ever compare to this. He wants to stay right here, in this moment, losing himself in the heady press of lips and tongues and warmth forever._  
  
_Castiel spares one last thought for Chastity to remember the way she guided him onto her bed and climbed into his lap, using the knowledge to push Dean back towards the old mattress on the floor, and settle on top of him. Then it’s all new from there, all theirs alone._  
  
_“Can I touch them?” Dean asks breathlessly, “Please?”_  
  
_“Oh!” Castiel gasps at the thought. “Yes!”_  
  
_And he was right. Dean does know exactly what to do with his hands. Even though Castiel has never let anyone do this to him before, Dean still finds all the right places to touch, in all the right ways._  
  
_“Do you like that?” Dean asks as he massages the arches of his shoulder feathers, or buries his fingers in the soft undersides of his secondary feathers – stroking and caressing until Castiel is so incoherent, he barely even notices Dean moving on until his hands find the next way to turn Castiel into a moaning mess._  
  
_They are naked before long, rolling and pressing together atop the rough army blankets they’d used to cover the old mattress, and Dean’s exploration of his wings traverses to his skin, discovering all the right places to touch him there as well – the peaked bud of his nipple, the hard cut of his hip, the soft inside of his thigh – with deft fingers and a clever mouth Dean unravels Castiel as if he’s always known how._  
  
_Castiel wishes he knew what to do to make Dean feel the same way. But his inexperienced hands fist in the blankets instead, his wings shuddering with indecision. He wants to curl them around Dean’s back as Dean lays on top of him, hold Dean close and shelter him from the cold drafts of the house. He wants to stroke Dean’s skin with his feathers, make Dean shiver the same way he does, with the slightest brush of Dean’s fingertips. He wants to arch his back and flare his wings to their full spread as Dean sucks his length into the wet warmth of his mouth. And when Dean touches him inside with slick fingers, finding the most responsive place in his body yet, Castiel’s wings beat against the mattress with the beginnings of flight._  
  
_“Do you like that?” Dean whispers again, though this time he seems hesitant. “Is this… okay?” he asks, fingers rubbing just softly inside._  
  
_“Yes!” Castiel gasps. The only answer that has fallen from his lips since he felt Dean’s mouth against them._  
  
_“Are you sure? We can do other things, Cas. We don’t have to do this now,” Dean murmurs, brows furrowed with concern even though his eyes are blown with need._  
  
_“Yes we do,” Castiel replies quietly, his hands winding around Dean’s shoulders and holding him tight. For all they know, Raphael could find them tomorrow morning, and they could be separated, or worse. Living on the run like they are, there’s no telling what the next day might bring, or if there will be a next day at all. Tonight could be their only chance for this, their last chance to be together, and Castiel doesn’t want to let it go._  
  
_He doesn’t have to say these things for Dean to understand. He can see in Dean’s eyes that Dean is just as aware of the fleeting nature of their lives. And what’s more, he can see just how badly Dean wants this as well._  
  
_“It’s just… I don’t want to hurt you, Cas,” Dean murmurs. “I’ve never done this with a man before,” he admits softly._  
  
_“You haven’t?” Castiel replies, incredulous. The way Dean’s handled him all night, touched him, it’s like Dean’s had a map to his body. That this is the first time Dean’s touched a man is the last thing Castiel expected to hear. But he can barely entertain the thought of Dean touching someone other than him either. Castiel takes comfort in the fact that tonight, they’re both virgins, in a way._  
  
_“I’ve never wanted to be with a man before. But I want you. I want this,” Dean murmurs. “Hell, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since before we left for the brothel,” he huffs._  
  
_Castiel smiles, sliding his hand up Dean’s neck to cup his cheek. “I want this too, Dean. I think I have for a while now,” he admits, the realization dawning on him. “I want everything. I trust you,” Castiel tells him._  
  
_And that’s how it’s always been with them. All in or nothing at all. No in between. No going slow. Everything for Dean._  
  
_With Dean buried inside him, Dean’s fingers buried in his wings, Castiel has never felt so close to another person before. They move as one, breath as one, feel as one, and he doesn’t think he will ever be able to separate himself again. Nor does he want to. Dean overwhelms his body with such sensation, and fills him so full of feeling, it’s not long before Castiel flies apart, losing himself in it completely._  
  
_When he finds himself again, it’s in the cradle of Dean’s arms, boneless and sated and more relaxed than he can remember being in his entire life. He understands now how such pleasures could easily become addicting._  
  
_“Did you like that?” Dean asks, chewing on his lip with a nervousness that’s wholly unnecessary._  
  
_“Yes,” Castiel replies without hesitation, smiling open and honest._  
  
_“What did you like best?” Dean quirks an eyebrow, a small smile forming on his lips in return._  
  
_“Everything,” Castiel grins. “But I think I like your kisses most of all.”_  
  
_Dean grins back at him at that, wide and bright, before leaning in to kiss him again, and Castiel hums contentedly in his throat as he wraps his arms around Dean’s neck._  
  
_They trade kisses for what seems like hours, though it could be just minutes, their lips becoming lazy and slow with sleep. Dean nods off first, breath still warm on Castiel’s lips, still nuzzled together on their makeshift pillow. And as Castiel watches over Dean’s sleeping form, in the drafty dark of that abandoned house, he wonders how he has ever lived without the comforting warmth of Dean’s body against his own._  
  
_He thinks that’s when he realizes he’s in love with Dean Winchester. That he always has been. And the memory of it makes him ache._  
  
_Castiel dreams of a world where Dean lives long enough for Castiel to tell him._

  
  
The next time Dean finds himself strapped to the examination table, he is much less talkative. Castiel had appeared that morning, grumpier than usual, with dark bags under his eyes, and Dean recognized the signs that Castiel barely slept the night before. The sight left Dean torn between the desire to comfort Castiel, and the hope that maybe he was finally getting to the man. Castiel even threatened to gag Dean if he didn’t keep silent today. So Dean is voluntarily keeping his mouth shut, biding his time until a better idea comes along.  
  
But without any other distractions, all Dean can do is watch Castiel, wondering at the differences between this world and his own. He realizes that if this Castiel doesn’t know where the bunker is, it means the Dean here never brought him there. Which means wherever their paths diverged between his world and the next, that part of their life together never happened.  
  
And it was such a good part of their life. Sure, they were always in and out of the place, dealing with one crisis after another, but it was their home. And he just doesn’t know how to prove that to Castiel without giving away its location and destroying the Resistance movement here.  
  
Until all of a sudden, he does.  
  
“I can prove it!” he blurts out, abrupt in the silent room.  
  
Castiel sighs heavily, looking away from his computer screen to arch an eyebrow at him. “Prove what?”  
  
“Me! Us!” Dean exhales.  
  
Castiel sighs again, waiting.  
  
“My phone,” Dean explains. “If you can find out a way to charge it, there are pictures, videos…” And a great number of them were taken in various parts of the bunker – the library, the kitchen, even the war-room – all large spaces with no windows, clearly underground.  
  
“Videos,” Castiel echoes, arching an eyebrow. Dean suddenly feels himself flushing, realizing the implications of what he’s just said.  
  
“It’s not what you think,” he replies quickly. “But it’s enough.”  
  
Castiel thinks about that for a second, before he appears to come to some decision, nodding. He picks up a nearby phone which seems to be some kind of intercom system, and dials an internal number.  
  
“Charlie,” Castiel says into the phone, and Dean blinks in surprise. He wonders if it’s the same Charlie he knows from his world. “If you could please come down, I have something I need you to look at,” Castiel says.  
  
It’s a long time before Castiel speaks again, and then it’s with a slightly irritated, “Thank you.” And it seems polite enough, but Dean knows Cas too well miss it. Judging by the extended silence on his end before-hand, he must’ve been subjected to quite an amount of rambling. Which means it’s _definitely_ the same Charlie.  
  
“So… You have a Charlie here too,” Dean grins, suddenly excited at the thought of seeing her. “Petite redhead? Technopathic abilities? Into the ladies?”  
  
“Yes,” Castiel replies distractedly, rummaging through his desk drawer.  
  
“But she thinks you’re pretty dreamy anyway, huh?” Dean ventures a guess.  
  
Castiel immediately begins to turn red, and Dean knows he guessed right. He chuckles.  
  
“Yeah, I knew her pretty well in my world too,” he says fondly. “She was kind of like the little sister I never knew I wanted.”  
  
“I see,” Castiel replies quietly. He doesn’t add anything more than that, finally finding Dean’s phone and pulling it out of the drawer. Right on cue, Charlie arrives, and she’s just the same as in Dean’s world, Star Wars t-shirt and all. Though it’s mostly covered by one of those generic white lab coats, and she’s a lot more jittery than the Charlie he knows. Her eyes go wide when she sees him, but he’s not sure if that’s because she actually knew the other him here or if she only knows him by reputation.  
  
“Oh, hey, Commander, is that the shifter that came in from the Camp? He’s pretty good. Looks just like Dean Winchester’s pictures.”  
  
“Yes, well…” Castiel frowns.  
  
“Is he one of Crowley’s?” Charlie continues. “I heard that some of Crowley’s men were sighted in the area. Do you think they might be here for him?” she asks worriedly.  
  
Castiel stiffens. “No, I believe Crowley is tied up with the Lucifer loyalists in Jackson County at the moment.”  
  
“Oh, right,” Charlie frowns. Dean narrows his eyes. His Cas was a terrible liar, and it seems this Castiel isn’t much better at it either. But Charlie doesn’t seem to pick up on anything. Either that or she just knows better than to question the almighty _Commander_.  
  
“So, what can I help you with, boss?” she asks.  
  
Castiel hands her Dean’s phone. “The technology is a little… different, but if you could find a way to charge it I would like to see what’s on it.”  
  
“I’ll see what I can do,” Charlie replies, taking the phone from him and giving it a cursory once over. “Oh, I see what you mean about the technology being different, I’ve never seen a USR connection like this before. I mean, this is beyond next gen, it’s just completely off the board. But I think-- yeah it shouldn’t be a problem if I just--”  
  
“Thank you, Charlie,” Castiel interrupts before she gets carried away any further.  
  
“Uh, yeah, sure, boss,” Charlie blinks out of her daze, and Dean thinks he sees her actually swoon a little when she looks up at Castiel. He bites down a laugh.  
  
“But Charlie,” Castiel adds sternly, “whatever this phone contains is for my eyes only. Understood?”  
  
“Yes, Commander, understood,” Charlie replies, shrinking away to make a hasty retreat and leaving Dean alone with Castiel again.  
  
She couldn’t have been in the room for more than a few moments, but she was a breath of fresh air, and Dean already misses her. He hopes to God she’s okay in his own world. He hopes she made it to the safety of the bunker in time.  
  
But seeing her also begins to fill Dean with hope. She’s exactly the same as she was in Dean’s world. Bar a little fear and subjugation. Just as Chuck was exactly the same as he remembers. Benny as well. And a small-town sheriff in California once told him that one is an incident, two is a coincidence, and three is a pattern. So it’s not that far a stretch to think that, deep down, Castiel might be similar as well. Maybe the differences are only on the surface, merely the result of a few bad choices. But at his core, he could still be the same. Still be the same Cas that fell in love with him, and gave everything for him. A Cas that could love him again.

  
  
When Charlie returns the next day, Dean can tell straight away that she’s seen all his files, despite being ordered not to look. There’s just the slightest difference in the way she looks at him, a little more wonder in her confusion, and Dean knows she’s put two and two together, and come up with five. But it’s the blush on her face, and the way she keeps trying not to glance between him and Castiel, that really gives it away.  
  
“So… uh… here you go then… Commander,” Charlie stammers awkwardly as she hands over the phone.  
  
“I hope it wasn’t any trouble,” Castiel replies, narrowing his eyes at her suspiciously, and a small meeping sound escapes her throat.  
  
“Nope! No trouble at all!” she replies, laughing nervously. “Took longer to charge than it did to work it out,” she explains, and Dean snorts. He’s not surprised. She was the one who worked out how to channel mutant abilities to power the bunker after all. Now that Dean thinks of it, it makes sense that she’d be at this facility as well, if they’re researching power manipulation here.  
  
“Thank you, Charlie,” Castiel says. It’s an obvious dismissal, but she seems to be frozen on the spot, her smile straining on her face.  
  
“I’m sorry, but… is this real life?” she finally breaks, incredulous. “I mean, there’s absolutely no sign of digital manipulation or tampering on those files, and how is that even possible? Unless they’re all shapeshifters? But then they’d have to be taking videos for _years_. And it’s one thing to _know_ about multiverse theory, but seeing it in action is another thing entirely. I mean the way you two are in that world is just--“  
  
“Charlie,” Castiel barks, interrupting her. “ _What_ videos?” he grits out pointedly.  
  
“Huh?” she blinks, confused for a moment. “Oh, right!” she exclaims, finally understanding. “Of course, _what_ videos? Not the videos I wasn’t supposed to look at, because you told me not to, not those. I have no idea what you’re talking about!” she giggles helplessly.  
  
Castiel narrows his eyes so far he’s practically squinting at her.  
  
“But uh, _hypothetically,_ if this phone came from a parallel world, it would explain why the technology is different,” she rambles on. “But the differences are mostly superficial. At heart it’s all essentially made of the same stuff,” she adds, and she shoots Dean a kind of soft, small little smile after she says it, that tells him the words are meant for him as well.  
  
_The same at heart._  
  
Yeah, he gets what she’s telling him. And it confirms everything he’s been hoping for. He returns her smile gratefully.  
  
“Thank you, Charlie, that will be all,” Castiel grinds out.  
  
“Sure thing, Commander” she says, finally backing towards the door. “Pleasure to help. Really. And if you ever need me for anything, _anything at all_ ,” she says, glancing at Dean, “you know where to find me. Even if you just need someone to talk to about… those _things_ that I absolutely did not see--“  
  
“ _Charlie_.”  
  
“Yep! Okay! Going now!”  
  
Once the door closes behind her, Castiel returns to his desk, sitting down and turning his back to Dean before turning on the phone. Dean can still see over Castiel’s shoulder though, and he watches with bated breath as Castiel opens up the photo gallery.  
  
It’s not just pictures he’s taken himself in there, it’s pictures that other people have taken and sent him as well. There’s a few Sam sent of Dean and Cas sitting on park benches, something they often did when they were on the road and needed to take a break to stretch their legs. There’s a few from a quiet lake they’d found one crisis-free weekend, sitting on the dock where Dean tried to teach Cas how to fish. One awkwardly posed picture of all of them in Bobby’s old living room that Bobby had set the timer for, the night before Ellen and Jo died… Years’ worth of saved pictures, telling their story so much more effectively than Dean could ever explain in words, and Castiel looks at them all, expression unreadable except for the uneven pattern of his breath.  
  
The videos are even more damning, the body language between them and the tone of their voices when they speak to each other unmistakable. Especially at the bunker, where they move around each other with such ease and… _domesticity,_ even Dean feels like he’s intruding on something personal and intimate. Even when the point of the video is something else entirely – like a recon video, or a recording of an interrogation – and they’re just interacting on the periphery. But there’s a few videos Dean took just for fun – Cas snoring softly in his sleep, Cas moaning happily around one of Dean’s home-made burgers, Cas tilting his head in confusion when a Casa Erotica video mysteriously starts playing on his laptop… But it’s that first video from the bunker that Dean’s watched the most.  
  
It was the morning after Cas’ first night in the bunker. Cas had looked so beautiful lying in his bed – _their_ bed – wings spread across the sheets, having left them unshrouded the whole night, that Dean couldn’t help but pull out his phone to take a video. As Dean climbed on the bed to get closer, though, the movement stirred Cas from his sleep, making him blink his eyes open in confusion.  
  
“Dean? What are you doing?” Cas had asked groggily, though Dean could hear the smile in his voice.  
  
“Just wanted to remember the moment,” he’d murmured in reply, and something softened in Cas’ eyes at that.  
  
“Well then,” Cas had said, cupping Dean’s face in his hands and making Dean look up from the camera into his eyes. “Remember this: I love you, Dean Winchester. I always have, and I always will, no matter what.”  
  
And even though Cas is looking at him instead of the camera, the look in his eyes is still clear, and the certainty in his voice is unmissable.  
  
“Yeah?” Dean had replied, his voice shaky and breathless in contrast, and Cas had smiled at him in response, bright and open as he pulled Dean in for a kiss.  
  
The phone gets forgotten then, but still manages to capture a shot of Dean’s bruised face as he leans in to kiss Cas, before getting lost in the sheets. And even though the sound is muffled then, the camera still picks up Dean returning the words in between kisses, before the clip ends.  
  
Castiel stares silently at the screen after that, expression still entirely unreadable, though his breathing seems even more rapid than before.  
  
“Cas?” Dean ventures softly, desperate for some kind of reaction.  
  
“I… left my wings unsheathed?” Castiel says in small, stunned voice, staring absently at the now black screen. _“All night?”_  
  
“Yeah,” Dean replies softly. “You did that a lot after that night,” he says. “I guess you felt safe there.”  
  
Castiel’s breath hitches in his throat at that, but he doesn’t look away from the phone.  
  
“Where did you get the bruises?” he asks, fingers now stroking the screen, though he seems unaware of what he’s doing.  
  
“That was after Lucifer’s crypt,” Dean answers.  
  
Castiel sucks in a sharp breath then, eyes whipping up towards Dean, wide and alarmed. “ _After?_ ” he gasps, the word a harsh rasp in his throat.  
  
“Yeah.” Dean frowns at the reaction.  
  
Castiel stares wildly at him for a long moment, before he abruptly stands up, and leaves the room.

  
  
It’s dark in the cocoon of Cas’ feathers. So dark, Dean can barely see Cas’ face, but for the light of the bedside lamp, glowing around the edges of Cas’ wings. His entire body aches, bruised and broken, but he barely notices it, wrapped up in softness and safety and _warmth_.  
  
He hadn’t even bothered showing Cas where the spare rooms were. As far as Dean’s concerned, his room is _their_ room now. The bunker is Cas’ home now too.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Cas whispers, riding Dean slow and sweet and kissing his bruises in feather-light apology.  
  
“Shhh,” Dean hushes him. “It wasn’t your fault.”  
  
Maybe if Dean had brought him to the bunker sooner, Cas would’ve been safe, protected. Dean should’ve known they’d try anything to get to him.  
  
“I wasn’t strong enough,” Cas protests, curling his wings ever more protectively around them.  
  
“It’s okay. You’re here now.” And he’s not letting Cas go until Bobby gives him the all-clear. “We’re gonna work things out,” he promises.  
  
“Dean, I’ll never hurt you again. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect you,” Cas promises in return.  
  
“I know, Cas,” Dean croons, “I know.”  
  
“Dean, I…” Cas chokes off, shuddering in Dean’s arms.  
  
“Cas,” Dean moans, overwhelmed by the look in Cas’ eyes.  
  
Dean knows this night. And he knows now what Cas was trying to say in that moment. It was on the tip of his tongue too, in every touch, in every kiss. But it’s not until the next morning when Cas actually gets the words out, telling him for the first time while Dean captured it on video with his crappy little phone.  
  
But for now, all Dean can do is hold Cas tight, hang on to every moment he can. Lose himself in the memory of it, and pray that it never ends.  
  
“Dean!” Cas gasps, gripping Dean’s shoulders as he slides down. “Dean!” he cries out again, eyes fluttering shut as he throws his head back.  
  
“ _Cas_ ,” Dean groans, burying his face in Cas’ skin.  
  
“Dean! Wake up!”  
  
“Cas?” Dean squints his eyes open in the dark. For a long moment he doesn’t understand that he’s awake, until he realizes it’s not _his_ Cas’ face he sees, hovering above him. “Wha…?  
  
“Get up,” Castiel orders, letting go of his shoulders.  
  
“Huh?” Dean asks in confusion, still groggy with sleep. “What’s going on?”  
  
It’s been days since Castiel has come for him, since seeing that video. At least Dean _thinks_ it’s been days. It could have been weeks. It’s felt like a small eternity, left wallowing in his solitary cell, with nothing but padded walls to look at, and the memory of Castiel’s face when he’d said, “ _After?_ ”  
  
After what? The crypt? Maybe something happened differently around that event in this world. Maybe the very thing that made their worlds diverge down such vastly different paths. But what? He hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it, running Castiel’s reactions over and over in his head.  
  
“Quiet,” Castiel hushes him, reaching forward to cuff his wrists, as per usual. Though there’s a distinct lack of armed escort this time. “Follow me,” he murmurs, leading Dean away from the cells. Dean doesn’t argue, playing the perfect prisoner for the night guards’ benefit as he follows Castiel through the halls. Castiel doesn’t take Dean to his usual examination room though. Instead he takes Dean down to the basement, which seems suspiciously lacking in guards despite the number of security doors they have to go through.  
  
Finally they seem to reach their destination, stepping into what looks much like a hospital room. In the lowered light Dean can see a bed in the center, surrounded by various machines, silently monitoring the patient’s vitals. Castiel steps up to the side of the bed, waiting for Dean to join him, and when Dean looks down, what he sees punches the air right out of his lungs.  
  
It’s his brother lying there, pale, unconscious, but alive. Dean grips the railing on the side of the bed, trying to remember how to breathe.  
  
“What’s wrong with him?” he asks, unable to look away.  
  
“There is a wall in his mind, cutting him off from consciousness. It was the only way to control his power,” Castiel explains. “I almost died getting him away from Lucifer. Wherever I flew, Sam destroyed everything, burning the earth and the very air around him. Sometimes I think I should’ve let him die in the first blast. But I just couldn’t let go. The rest of the world didn’t really matter to me then. Not after…” Castiel trails off.  
  
Dean finally looks up, meeting Castiel’s gaze to find determination blazing in his eyes.  
  
“I’m going to get him out of here, Dean,” Castiel promises. “I owe it to him. To both of you.”  
  
Dean nods, swallowing thickly against the lump in his throat.  
  
The silence feels heavier on the walk back to his cell, his mind weighed down with questions and the confusion and shock of discovering his brother alive. Again.  
  
“Is this real?” Dean gasps, praying that this isn’t another one of Zachariah’s illusions.  
  
“Yes,” Castiel replies sadly. “I’m sorry.”  
  
“But that’s what you’d say anyway, even if you are an illusion,” Dean sighs.  
  
He doesn’t really care anymore, though. He wants it to be real.  
  
“Whatever. If this is an illusion at least let it be one of Gabriel’s instead of Zachariah’s,” Dean says.  
  
Castiel smiles at that. “You always did say you preferred Gabriel’s illusions.”  
  
“You-- what?” Dean breathes. “You mean, you believe me?”  
  
“I think… I’ve been trying not to believe since the moment I saw you,” Castiel whispers.  
  
“Cas,” Dean grabs onto Castiel’s wrists.  
  
“Let me go,” Castiel says tightly, though he’s making no effort to pull away.  
  
“Please,” Dean replies, leaning closer. “I need you,” he breathes, so close he can feel Castiel’s breath on his lips.  
  
“No,” Castiel growls, yanking out of Dean’s grasp and turning away. “I’m not _him,_ ” Castiel says, running an agitated hand through his hair. “The way you look at me… You shouldn’t. You don’t know--”  
  
“I _do_ know you, Cas,” Dean hisses. “This world may be different from mine, but I’ve seen enough to know that I _know_ you. And I know what we could be together. I could be so good for you, Cas.”  
  
Castiel remains silent at that, and Dean tries to step closer, but Castiel’s back goes completely rigid at the movement.  
  
“Cas,” Dean tries again, more gently. “I don’t know if you ever loved me in this world, but I know whatever part of you loved me in my world is in you too. If you just give me a chance, I know you could love me.”  
  
Castiel deflates at that, heaving a deep sigh. “I could,” he replies softly. “I _did,_ ” he adds. “But I still killed you. And Sam destroyed the world.”

 


	6. chapter five

  
_The first time Castiel disobeyed his family was for Dean Winchester._  
  
_Of course, by then Castiel already had his doubts._  
  
_He’d spent much time with the Winchesters. After saving Dean from The Pit, Michael had ordered Castiel to stay with the brothers, to keep them out of enemy hands, even though they refused to ally themselves with Michael’s movement. Though Lucifer coveted Sam’s abilities, Dean’s powers could be just as dangerous in the wrong hands, aside from the fact he could be used as a way to manipulate Sam. They did not know at the time that it was Michael himself who wished to manipulate Sam. That he ordered Dean to be saved from The Pit so that Dean could be killed at his own convenience, and not anyone else’s._  
  
_But the more time Castiel spent at the brothers’ side, the more he learned about the Winchesters as people, underneath the threat of their dangerous abilities. The Winchesters were good people. They didn’t believe they were superior to humans, like Michael did. They just wanted to live freely. And they used their powers to help others. So Castiel began to doubt what he had learned from his family._  
  
_And then there was Ruby._  
  
_Lucifer couldn’t get to the brothers while Castiel was with them, so he did the next best thing and sent her instead. Of course, Castiel suspected her motives from the beginning, but strangely enough, Michael ordered him not to interfere in the relationship. Later they realized Michael was hoping that when Lucifer finally made his move, Sam would react like he had in the past, with his mother and Jess – that Sam would lose control when one of his loved ones was threatened._  
  
_That’s when Michael came for Dean. But by then, Castiel had seen enough to believe Dean’s way was better. So he disobeyed. Fell from grace. He helped Dean escape. And they got to Sam before Lucifer managed to cause too much destruction._  
  
_Maybe, by then, he already knew he’d begun to fall a little bit in love. With humanity, freedom – Dean had already shown him so many things, and there was still so much more._  
  
_But it all ends, the morning after that first night together in the abandoned house. Of course Michael would’ve waited until then. Waited until he was sure that the bond between them was strong enough to use against them. Ruby hadn’t been enough to produce the desired effect from Sam. That left only Dean. And Michael was going to use Castiel to get to him._  
  
_If Castiel had only known, he would never have allowed himself to get close to Dean. He would have stayed far, far away. But how was Castiel to have known? Michael had many, many powerful mutants amongst his faction. Even Castiel did not know of them all. And how was he supposed to know of one who could enter and control his mind, if any memory of it was erased afterwards?_  
  
_How was Castiel supposed to know that he had been Naomi’s puppet from the beginning?_  
  
_But when he finds himself teleporting Dean to one of Lucifer’s old hideouts in Lincoln Springs, against all will and volition, Castiel knows. He suddenly remembers the too-bright office, seemingly existing in its own time and reality, and all the reports he made, all the commands he was given. And then when he began to doubt, to rebel, the countless hours of agonizing torment, strapped to a chair for what Naomi called his ‘re-programming.’ And finally, he remembers training in a large warehouse while Naomi observed unseen, killing Dean over and over again in a hundred different ways, until the act became nothing to his hands._  
  
_But they’re not in that strange un-reality anymore. The crypt is very real. And it’s the real Dean that stands in front of him. And it’s with horror that Castiel finds himself attacking, lunging for Dean the way he’s been trained to, as soon as Naomi gives the order._  
  
_Her ‘programming’ is too strong, the brainwashing too ingrained, he can’t resist the power of her commands no matter how hard he tries. He flies around Dean, teleporting in and out and landing hard and heavy blows no matter how Dean begs Castiel to tell him why he’s doing this, pleading with Castiel to stop._  
  
_Dean can barely defend himself, though Castiel knows Dean is a more than capable fighter. Castiel can feel the waves of neutralizing fields he sends out, trying to prevent Castiel from using his abilities, but to no avail. Dean’s powers are failing him, completely destabilized by Castiel’s seeming betrayal. Castiel didn’t know until then just how much he meant to Dean, that he could affect Dean so, but now the knowledge makes him want to scream and rail and tear himself apart with his own hands._  
  
_“What have you done to me, Naomi?” Castiel chokes out, hunching over in pain as she screams in his head._  
  
_“Who’s Naomi?” he hears Dean say from a distance, but he sees Dean putting the pieces together. The existence of mutants with ‘puppet-master’ type abilities is common knowledge, considered by some to be more powerful and dangerous than those who can manipulate and affect other mutants’ powers. But the realization comes too late. Dean is already weakened and bloody, and Naomi is still screaming, telling Castiel that this is what he trained for, this is what they sent him for, this is what they meant Castiel to do all along – kill him!_  
  
_And Castiel knows it isn’t right. The last thing he ever wanted was to hurt Dean, and yet that’s exactly what he’s done. He begins to wonder if anything he felt was real at all, or if he was just obeying Naomi’s commands._  
  
_But then Castiel hears what Dean’s saying, over and over again. “Cas… This isn’t you. This isn’t you.”_  
  
_Naomi screams louder and Castiel raises his arm for the final blow._  
  
_“Cas, I know you’re in there. I know you can hear me,” Dean pleads. “Cas, it’s me. We’re family. We need you. I need you.”_  
  
_Castiel dreams of a world where he doesn’t kill Dean then. Because at the last moment Dean surges forward and kisses him._  
  
_He dreams of a world where he doesn’t take Dean’s body to Stull Cemetery on Naomi’s orders, and lay him at Michael’s feet for Sam to see._  
  
_He dreams of a world that Sam doesn’t destroy._

  
  
“No… No…” Dean stammers, shaking his head in confusion. “I kissed you then! I kissed you, and it broke Naomi’s hold on you! You couldn’t even wait for me to stop kissing you before you got us out of there!”  
  
“No,” Castiel replies quietly, frowning. “There was no kiss. I killed you.”  
  
Dean reels back in shock, breath rushing out of him like a punch to the gut, any hope he had left shattering inside him, breaking apart in his chest.  
  
“Are you under mind-control now?” he grinds out.  
  
“No…”  
  
“Then why the _hell_ are you still working for them?” he hisses.  
  
“They would still be able to find me if I tried to leave,” Castiel rushes to explain. “And I told you, Sam's here now.”  
  
“He shouldn’t be here in the first place!” Dean yells.  
  
“I know,” Castiel deflates, slumping in on himself with remorse. “I know.”  
  
“Get out,” Dean growls, turning away. He can’t even look at this Castiel. This _mockery_ of the man he knew and loved.  
  
“Dean, I’m so sor--”  
  
“ _Get out!_ ” he screams before Castiel can finish. He doesn’t want to hear it. No amount of apologizing can fix this… this complete _betrayal_.  
  
He barely hears Castiel leaving the cell, staring unseeing at the walls, fighting the urge to scream and beat against them until his knuckles are raw and bloody. Just to feel anything other than _this_.

  
  
This time Dean knows he’s dreaming.  
  
He’s only been here once, but apparently once was enough to make all the difference.  
  
He would wake himself up if he could, but he can’t. He sure as hell doesn’t want to be _here,_ on his knees, bloody and bruised, heart breaking, in Lucifer’s crypt.  
  
“Cas… This isn’t you. This isn’t you,” he says, over and over again. Though he doesn’t know who he’s trying to convince – Cas or himself. But he refuses to believe it was all a lie, that Cas played him from the start.  
  
It was more than that. Cas is family. They need him. _Dean_ needs him. Dean…  
  
Dean hesitates. Just for a moment. Doubt overwhelms him.  
  
Maybe it _was_ all just a lie.  
  
He’s just so tired of fighting. And he hurts. All over. He’s so tired of having all the things he cares about taken away from him.  
  
In another world, Dean finds the strength to pull himself together. Picks himself off the ground to fight one more time for what he loves.  
  
But not in this world.

  
  
“Benny,” he says into the dark of his cell. “Hey, Benny, you there?”  
  
“Yeah, I’m here,” comes the reply. “You okay?”  
  
“Did you hear all that? Earlier?”  
  
“Yeah, I heard it,” Benny sighs.  
  
Dean drops his head into his hands. “He killed me, Benny.” He huffs a bitter laugh. “I mean, what am I supposed to do with that?”  
  
Castiel killed him. _Castiel_ killed him. Dean should’ve strangled him before he had the chance to leave Dean’s cell.  
  
“I don’t know what to tell you, brother,” Benny says. “I don’t know how you come back from a thing like that.”  
  
“I’m pretty sure no one’s come back from that, Benny.” Dean huffs another low chuckle.  
  
“True. It’s a pretty unique situation you’re in. It’s not everyday someone comes back from the dead, so to speak,” Benny says. “But I gotta tell you, Dean. If I were in your shoes, and I had another chance with Andrea? It wouldn’t matter what happened between us, or how different she was… I would do anything to get her back, Dean. Anything. And if by some dumb chance she would take me? I’d never let her go again.”  
  
“Benny…” Dean sighs. He knows where Benny’s coming from. He can feel Benny’s grief rolling off him in waves.  
  
“It was my fault, Dean,” Benny chokes out. “If I’d just gone with her, maybe I could’ve kept her safe.”  
  
Dean doesn’t know what to say to that. He wants to reassure Benny. Tell him it’s not his fault, and there’s nothing he could’ve done. But Dean knows now how different choices have different consequences.  
  
“Or maybe I’d have died with her, I don’t know. But at least maybe then my last words to her wouldn’t have been in anger,” Benny adds quietly, overcome with remorse.  
  
Dean can’t help but think about his last words to Castiel, his anger at him. And he wonders if Castiel feels the kind of regret Benny is bleeding now out of his entire being.  
  
He can’t help but think it’s no wonder the Castiel in this world is so closed off now, having to carry the guilt of killing someone he loved. Even though he was under mind-control at the time.  
  
And it must be so much worse now, to know that in a different world, he didn’t.  
  
All because of one kiss.  
  
Dean doesn’t know why it was the kiss that made the difference. Maybe the physical contact was enough to break Naomi’s hold. Or maybe it was something more, something that gave Cas the strength to fight. But he’s starting to wonder if maybe it wasn’t entirely Castiel’s fault that things ended up the way they did.  
  
Dean wants to be angry at him. But in the face of Benny’s remorse, Dean just _aches_ for him.  
  
“Let me ask you something, Dean,” Benny finally speaks again. “You already lost him once. Do you really think you can just let him go again?”

  
  
The next time Dean wakes, it’s to an explosion, powerful enough to rock the entire building and shake him right out of his cot. The alarm goes off, closely followed by the sound of shouting and gunfire echoing through the corridors, then with a buzz and a clang, all the cell-doors open. Dean stares at the door for a moment in confusion, until he hears a much closer round of gunfire and shouting, and the familiar buzzing of shock-rods and tasers, right outside.  
  
He carefully peers out the door of his cell, assessing the situation, and sees some of his fellow inmates trying to overpower the guards at the cell-block entrance. One of the guards is knocked unconscious, and his shock-rod goes sprawling across the floor towards Dean’s door. Dean rolls out into the hallway to grab it, before charging into the fray. He takes down one guard, then two, before another one manages to blindside him, knocking the shock-rod out of his hand and pinning him to the ground. He struggles against the guard, trying to avoid his mean-looking fangs, but then all of a sudden, something barrels into the guard from the side, knocking him off Dean. When he looks around, he sees Benny on top of the guard, slicing him through the neck with something that looks like sharpened bone.  
  
“Jesus Christ, Benny. Where did you get that thing?” Dean gasps, climbing to his feet.  
  
Benny rolls his neck, surveying the dead and unconscious bodies around them, both prisoners and guards. “One of the guards was throwing these things out of his arms,” he explains. “Picked up the power when I took him down.”  
  
“So no more telepathy?” Dean asks.  
  
“Nope,” Benny shakes his head.  
  
“Dammit,” Dean curses. “That could’ve been a handy power to have right now.”  
  
“Sorry, brother. You know how it works. One power at a time,” Benny says. “Not that I really had any control over that telepathy thing anyway,” he shrugs.  
  
Dean looks at Benny properly then, a wide grin breaking out on his face. Benny returns the grin, eyes crinkling at the corners, as he steps towards Dean.  
  
“It’s good to see you, man,” Dean says, clapping Benny on the back as they hug. Having Benny in his head from a cell across the hall just wasn’t the same thing.  
  
“You too, brother,” Benny replies. “But, uh… You wouldn’t happen to have any idea what’s goin’ on, would you?” he asks when he steps back.  
  
“Prison break?” Dean shrugs. When Castiel told Dean he would get them out, Dean was expecting something clandestine, a quiet escape under the cover of night to give them a head start before the alarm sounded. He wasn’t expecting an all-out attack on the facility in the middle of the day. But… “It’s as good a time as any.”  
  
“I hear that,” Benny agrees. “So what’s the plan?”  
  
Dean considers the options as he searches the bodies for more weapons. Castiel never gave him any explicit instructions, so he’s just going to have to assume the plan is the same as always. “Find Cas. Get to Sam,” Dean replies, lifting a gun from one of the soldiers.  
  
“Okay then,” Benny nods, taking it all in stride, as always. “Lead the way.”  
  
“Hey, you got one of those for me?” Dean asks, nodding at Benny’s knife.  
  
“Sure thing, chief,” Benny replies. Dean watches in fascination as something starts to grow out of Benny’s wrist, tapered and sharp, popping out at just under a foot long.  
  
“Huh,” Dean grunts when Benny hands it to him. “Awesome.”  
  
He leads Benny out of the cellblock, grateful to have the man at his back. If this Benny really is anything like the Benny from Dean’s world, he knows he can trust the man with his life.  
  
Luckily for them, it seems _all_ the doors have been unlocked, not just in the cellblocks, and Dean wonders if Charlie had anything to do with that. As he heads toward Castiel’s lab, the sounds of fighting seem to be moving further and further away as well, and Dean wonders if that’s been planned also. It all seems a bit too easy so far, like the fighting is just a convenient distraction. They barely run into any more guards, their numbers so minimal they’re easy to pick off one by one.  
  
Finally they get to Castiel’s lab. But when they step through the door, it’s not Castiel’s lab at all. It’s an entirely different room, beautiful and white, with gold filigree and oil paintings on the walls.  
  
“What the…” Dean looks around in confusion.  
  
“Dean?” Benny echoes his confusion. “What is this?”  
  
Dean grits his teeth. He knows what this is. He knows _exactly_ what this is. The last time he was here, Ruby was delivering his brother to Lucifer, and Michael had him captured for “ _safe-keeping._ ” It was also the first time Cas rebelled against his family for Dean, and helped him escape.  
  
“Dean, Dean, _Dean_ ,” Zachariah sneers from behind him. “You know, I had a feeling it was really you. But Castiel’s been such a _good_ little soldier, everyone believed him when he said he killed you. I knew better, though. And the fact that you came here first just gave the two of you away.” Zachariah snorts. “So predictable.”  
  
"Actually, Cas _did_ kill me. Well, _your_ Dean anyway. I’m a different Dean, from a parallel world. One where I already killed you," Dean smirks. "And let me tell you, man. If you think _I’m_ predictable? Well, _so are you_ ," he growls, whipping around and shoving his knife right up through Zachariah’s jaw, just where he knew the man would be.  
  
Zachariah’s eyes go wide with shock, and the beautiful room flickers around him, the illusion dying with him. By the time his body hits the ground, they’re in Castiel’s lab again.  
  
“Definitely worth doing a second time around,” Dean mutters with grim satisfaction.  
  
“Dean, we need to keep moving,” Benny says.  
  
“Okay,” Dean nods, pulling himself together. Castiel isn’t here, and Dean has no idea where else to look for him… except the only other room Dean’s been to.  
  
“This way,” Dean says, leading Benny towards the basement. He hopes the whole point of Castiel escorting him through the halls that night they went to see Sam, instead of just teleporting there, was for this _–_ so Dean would know the way on his own. Castiel better be there.  
  
But when they get to the elevator, they run into problems again.  
  
They quickly duck behind a corner for cover, Dean shooting at the guards down the other end of the hall with the gun he picked up earlier, Benny throwing projectile bones at them from his wrists. It’s not going to hold them off for long though. They have limited ammo, and Dean can hear one of the guards calling for back-up.  
  
“It’s not looking good, brother!” Benny yells over the gunfire, and Dean growls. It’s times like this that he really wishes he had more active powers. Something like telekinesis, so he’d be able to stop the bullets in mid-air, or warp the guards’ guns with the power of his mind. Hell, he’d even take the power of flight right now, just for the element of surprise.  
  
But then, just when Dean’s down to the end of his clip, he hears the guard yell, “Commander!” And his stomach leaps with hope.  
  
“Cas!” he yells over the gunfire.  
  
The next thing he hears is the sound of a shock-rod, followed by the sound of the guards hitting the ground. And then, “Dean,” Castiel calls out.  
  
“Cas,” Dean exhales in relief, coming out from behind the corner to meet him. For a second it feels like old times – together in the thick of it, Cas coming to his rescue… Dean doesn’t even realize the way he’s smiling at the other man until Castiel returns it with a reminiscent look of his own.  
  
Somewhere behind them the elevator dings open, breaking the moment. Dean clears his throat awkwardly as he hustles inside.  
  
“Benny,” Castiel greets as he steps into the elevator after Dean.  
  
“Hola,” Benny nods, following after him.  
  
“I’m sorry I couldn’t get to you sooner,” Castiel tells them when the elevator starts moving. “I’ve been trying to lead most of the fighting away from here,” he explains.  
  
“I figured,” Dean nods. “So what’s the plan now?”  
  
“Now, we get to Sam,” Castiel answers.  
  
“Okay,” Dean agrees. And he doesn’t realize he’s smiling again until he hears Benny mutter a _“merde”_ under his breath, rolling his eyes at them.  
  
Dean shakes it off as they approach the basement floor, getting his head in the game again. But when the elevator door opens, there’s a woman already standing there in the hallway, waiting to get onto the lift. Castiel steps in front of Dean, trying to shield him from her view.  
  
“Commander!” the woman snaps to attention. “The dampening barrier is down, and Crowley’s forces have breached the perimeter. We’ve lost Josiah, Ezra, and Oren--” she gasps, finally noticing Benny and Dean and pulling out a shock-rod.  
  
“Stand down, Hannah,” Castiel orders.  
  
“But Commander, is that really Dean Winchester?” she gasps, wide-eyed.  
  
“Yes, it is,” Castiel sighs.  
  
“That’s why they’re attacking, isn’t it?” she glares.  
  
“Yes, it is,” Castiel replies reluctantly.  
  
“Then you should kill him!” she yells, wild-eyed.  
  
“No,” Castiel says. And in the next blink of an eye he’s standing behind Hannah, knocking her out with his own shock-rod. “Not this time,” he says.  
  
When Castiel meets Dean’s eyes then, it feels like he releases a breath he didn’t even realize he’d been holding – a breath he’d been holding for far too long. He still doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to forgive this Castiel for killing him, or how the two of them will ever be able to move forward, but he’s starting to think he wants to try.  
  
“How touching,” a sneering voice interrupts the moment, all too smarmy and smug and familiar.  
  
“Crowley,” Dean growls as the man himself rounds the corner, exactly the same as he was in Dean’s world.  
  
“Hullo, boys,” Crowley leers in greeting. He’s flanked by two other men, one prisoner and one mutant. The mutant obviously has shape manipulation abilities, judging by the nasty-looking blade where his hand should be. It looks like it’s made of bone, but it’s far from the kind of bone Benny’s been shooting out of his wrists. Benny’s bones are bleach white, newly made. But this guy’s blade looks old, scarred and dark, like it’s been stained with blood over and over. Not to mention, it’s as big as a scythe.  
  
The prisoner with them doesn't have an immediately obvious mutation. He’s a little older, the thick beard on his face full of white, but even though he appears far less dangerous than the other mutant, Dean knows if he’s with Crowley that may not be the case.  
  
“Well, Castiel, I’ve got mine,” he says indicating the prisoner. “Have you got yours?”  
  
“Follow me,” Castiel says, and Dean’s gut sinks. He just _knows_ Crowley’s referring to Sam.  
  
“Cas,” Dean hisses as they head down the hallway towards Sam’s room. “Crowley?” he asks disbelievingly. “Every time we have _ever_ dealt with him we ended up screwed!” And if the people in this world are essentially the same as the people of his own, then the Crowley of this world is probably just as much of an ass-hat as the Crowley of his own, and Dean knows that whatever kind of deal Castiel’s made with him isn’t going to end well.  
  
“I did what I had to,” Castiel replies as he opens the door to Sam’s room, and Dean feels his chest tightening with the hurt of betrayal again.  
  
He doesn’t get the chance to grill Castiel any further though, because the next moment there’s a flash of lighting, illuminating a figure already waiting for them in the room.  
  
“Well, well, Castiel. I thought I might find you here eventually.”  
  
“Raphael,” Castiel growls, and Dean balks in surprise, because the Raphael he knows is a man, not a woman.  
  
“ _That’s_ Raphael?” Dean says under his breath. “Dude looks like a lady.”  
  
Raphael glares at him. “I certainly haven’t missed your lack of wit, these past years.”  
  
“Right back at ‘ya,” Dean snipes.  
  
Raphael sighs, arching an eyebrow at Castiel. “So this was your plan? Have Crowley’s mutants distract the guards, and destroy the dampening perimeter so you can teleport the Winchesters out?”  
  
Castiel doesn’t reply, glaring silently at Raphael.  
  
“And for what, Castiel?” Raphael sneers. “Do you really think he’ll _forgive_ you for your part in all this? _Love_ you?”  
  
Castiel still doesn’t say anything, but Dean can see the way Raphael’s words affect him by the hard clench of his jaw, and the way he grips the rail of Sam’s bed in his fists, knuckles going white.  
  
“And what do you get out of this, Crowley?” Raphael asks, turning his attention to the red-skinned mutant.  
  
“Who me?” Crowley smirks. “Well, the Commander here has promised to loan me Winchester the Younger to help take care of a little problem I’m having.”  
  
“I see. And how exactly do you intend to use Sam Winchester’s power while he’s still in this state?” Raphael scoffs.  
  
“Well, Mr. Comatose isn’t the only one I came here for,” Crowley says, glancing at the prisoner he came with.  
  
“Yes,” Castiel jumps in suddenly, stiffly reaching out to the bearded man and pulling him forward. Dean raises a suspicious eyebrow. He knows Cas’ poker face. It’s terrible, and that’s it right there.  
  
“You see, it seems that this man is a conduit,” Castiel explains. “Which means he can transfer powers from _one_ mutant, to _another_ ,” he says, giving the man a pointed look, before tilting his head towards Sam’s bed.  
  
“Wait, no!” Raphael gasps, but it’s too late. All the man has to do is reach forward to touch Sam’s leg, and a glow begins to emanate from the contact, all the way through the man to where Castiel is holding onto his arm, until it engulfs Castiel completely. Castiel turns to Raphael then, and with a snap of his fingers, Raphael explodes.  
  
“Son of a bitch,” Dean breathes, blinking at the empty space where Raphael was standing.  
  
“Thank you, Cain,” Castiel says, the light around him dimming as he lets go of the man’s arm.  
  
“What did you _do,_ Cas?” Dean gapes.  
  
“With the power boost from Sam, I was able to externally open a portal… _inside_ Raphael,” Castiel smirks.  
  
“Holy crap,” Dean grins.  
  
“Yes, yes, this is all very interesting, I’m sure,” Crowley interrupts. “But can we get the hell out of here, please?”  
  
“Yes, of course,” Castiel replies, turning serious again. “Everyone please hold on to each other,” he says, reaching out for Cain again.  
  
Dean reaches out to take Castiel’s hand, and Castiel’s startles at the touch, whipping around to look at Dean.  
  
“Let’s get out of here,” Dean smiles, squeezing Castiel’s fingers, and Castiel returns the gesture, a small smile forming on his lips.  
  
In the next blink of an eye, they’re gone.

  
  
They arrive in the basement of some kind of abandoned building. The old kind, made of brick and arched windows, exposed piping everywhere. With the extra power, Castiel not only manages to teleport all of them at once, but all of Sam’s monitoring equipment as well, and his brother lands safely in his bed.  
  
Castiel lets go of Dean’s hand, rushing forward to reconnect Sam’s equipment to nearby power-points. As he works, Dean steps closer to the bed, looking down at his brother. He still doesn’t like that Castiel has used his brother as some kind of bargaining chip for Crowley’s help, but that’s something they’re just going to have to hash out later. At least for now, they aren’t prisoners anymore, and Dean’s grateful for that. Castiel even killed Raphael to get them out, and that has to count for something.  
  
Castiel finally joins Dean by Sam’s bedside, looking down at his sleeping brother. Dean reaches out to cover Castiel’s hand where it’s resting on the rail.  
  
“You did it, Cas. You got us out,” Dean says, squeezing his fingers. “Thank you.”  
  
Castiel turns to look at him, smiling softly at him in return.  
  
“You’re welcome, Dean,” he murmurs in reply, and Dean is surprised to feel Castiel’s breath on his lips when he says it.  
  
He doesn’t know how he ended up so close to Castiel, but at the same time it just feels right, like that familiar, inevitable pull of gravity that always seems to bring them together. His pulse suddenly pounding in his ears, he can’t stop himself from leaning closer, and closer…  
  
And then the world explodes around him.  
  
Dean blinks dazedly at Castiel, his ears ringing. For a second he thinks that must’ve been one hell of a kiss, but then his vision clears, and he sees the frantic worry on Castiel’s face, the way Castiel’s lips keep moving, like he’s yelling something, but Dean can’t hear.  
  
A few more moments and Dean’s realizes he’s lying in a pile of rubble with Castiel crouched over him, one of the walls of the warehouse completely exploded inward.  
  
“Dean! Dean, are you alright?” he finally hears Castiel yelling at him, and feels Castiel lightly slapping his face. Dean groans, pushing himself up to survey the damage, but as Castiel leans back to give Dean space, he hisses in pain, hand going to his side.  
  
Dean’s heart stops when he sees the pipe sticking out of Castiel’s body, the dark red stain quickly seeping into Castiel’s clothes from the wound.  
  
“No… No, Cas!” Dean gasps, hands hovering over the wound in horror.  
  
It’s fatal. He’s seen enough injuries in his life to know. And it’s not the kind of thing he can heal with his powers. He has to get Castiel to a hospital.  
  
Dean looks around wildly, taking in the situation and hoping to find someone to help him. Nearby, Cain is pulling the man with the bladed hand out from under the rubble. Further away, Sam’s bed has been overturned by the explosion, but Benny is already pulling him out from underneath it. Benny quickly checks Sam over before finding Dean and nodding, silently confirming that Sam’s okay.  
  
But then Benny’s gaze sharpens on another point in the room, and Dean looks up to see a woman stepping through the exploded wall, a tall red-head who walks with the kind of confidence that indicates a great deal of power.  
  
“Hullo, darling,” Crowley jeers from the other side of the alcove, and the next moment a slew of dog-like beasts rip forward into existence around him, growling and snapping at the woman.  
  
Grinning, the woman raises her hand, and with a flick of her wrist, Crowley’s hellhounds are eviscerated in a bright flash of light.  
  
“Bollocks,” Crowley grumbles.  
  
“Right now, you and I are going to talk about a regime change,” she sneers at him.  
  
“Who the hell is that?” Dean hisses at Cain.  
  
“Abaddon,” Cain growls lowly in reply.  
  
“Cain,” the woman says, her attention drawn by their exchance and her eyebrows shooting upwards in surprise. “What a fortunate surprise.”  
  
Cain glares at her silently, in a way that tells Dean there’s some seriously bad blood between the two.  
  
“What do you say, lover?” she grins. “Come back to us. Come back to _me_.”  
  
“I told you, Abaddon. I’m _done_ ,” Cain snaps at her.  
  
“Then what are you doing here? With _him?_ ” she grits out, narrowing her eyes at Crowley.  
  
And that’s when she sees Sam.  
  
“Is that who I think it is?” she says, eyes widening in shock.  
  
Dean feels his gut slowly sinking as the surprise in her eyes turns into understanding, piecing together Cain’s presence with his brother, and what Crowley intends to use him for.  
  
“Well we can’t have that, can we?” she says, and with another flick of her wrist, Sam is ripped from Benny’s grasp, sent flying across the room towards the solid brick wall still standing. He hits the wall head-first with a sickening snap, crumpling to the ground in a heap.  
  
“ _NO!_ ” Dean roars.  
  
Benny scrambles over to where Sam’s fallen, checking him over. When he looks up again, Dean can see the answer in Benny’s eyes, even before he reluctantly shakes his head.  
  
“No! Sammy!” Dean chokes out.  
  
Not again.  
  
Before he even knows what he’s doing, Dean’s pulling Benny’s bone-knife from his jacket, rushing forward to attack the woman.  
  
She incapacitates him in moments, twisting his arm and forcing him down to his knees. Dean cries out in pain.  
  
“Dean!” Castiel chokes out, attempting to lurch towards them.  
  
Dean finds Castiel’s eyes and shakes his head, silently signalling Castiel to stay back. This woman is obviously very powerful, and Castiel's already hanging on by a thread.  
  
“Well, look at _you_ ,” the woman grins down at Dean, breath hot and uncomfortable on his face. “The pictures I’ve seen haven’t done you justice, Dean Winchester. You give a girl all sorts of nasty ideas.”  
  
Dean struggles against her grip, trying to neutralize whatever super-strength she may be using on him, but his emotions are too unstable to use his abilities effectively, or she’s just too powerful.  
  
“What do you say, Dean? Since Cain left, I’ve been looking for someone to rule by my side. Join me. We’ll have a grand ol’ time.”  
  
“What if I tell you to get bent?” Dean snarls. Glancing back to check on Castiel, he racks his brain for a way to get out of this mess and get Castiel to safety.  
  
“Oh, but he’s not going to last long either,” Abaddon says mockingly. “You might as well come with me.”  
  
Dean looks at Castiel. Maybe if he goes with her, Benny can get Castiel to a hospital somehow. But even then, Dean knows Castiel’s chances are slim. The blood stain on his clothes has grown larger, seeping onto the ground beneath him, and his skin is ashen from blood loss.  
  
Dean crumples in her grip, about to give in, but that’s when he feels it – a hand, closing around his ankle – Cain’s hand. A warmth shoots up his leg from the contact, the tingle of power pulsing through his body, and he feels himself transforming, changing shape, his hand elongating into the sharp point of a blade, just like the other mutant with Cain. With a smirk, Dean shoves the blade upwards, right into Abaddon’s stomach, pushing it deeper and deeper, and Abaddon cries out, surprised and enraged and long, exploding in a flash of white light.  
  
Dean blinks into the empty space afterwards, trying to clear his vision. He feels Cain remove his hand, and turns to see Cain removing his other hand from the bladed mutant on the ground. Dean watches in fascination as his blade-shaped appendage returns to normal.  
  
“Thanks,” he breathes. Cain inclines his head in return.  
  
“Dean!” Benny’s voice shakes him out of his stupor. He turns to see Benny kneeling at Castiel’s side, and scrambles over to them.  
  
“Dean,” Castiel smiles weakly.  
  
“Cas,” Dean tries to smile back as he takes Castiel’s hand in his own. “Can you fly out of here? Get to a hospital?”  
  
“Maybe,” Castiel replies. “But I don’t think it will matter,” he says, and as if to prove his point he begins to cough, blood gurgling from his mouth over his lips.  
  
“Cas, no,” Dean wipes it away. “Don’t do this to me again,” he whispers.  
  
“I’m sorry, Dean,” Castiel replies, eyelids fluttering low.  
  
“No!” Dean shakes him. “You promised, Cas! You promised I wouldn’t be alone!” he chokes out, his vision blurring with tears.  
  
“Dean,” Benny hisses as Castiel’s eyes fly wide again, body racked with another painful cough.  
  
“Dammit, Cas,” Dean curses. “I _can’t_ do this again.”  
  
“Yes, you can, Dean,” Castiel smiles, reaching shakily towards his face. Dean grabs Castiel’s hand, pressing it to his cheek for him.  
  
“No, Cas. No,” Dean whispers.  
  
“Just remember that wherever you may end up, I will always love you, no matter what.”  
  
“Cas…” Dean pleads.  
  
“Remember that, Dean…”  
  
“I will,” Dean nods helplessly. He suddenly realizes that in this world, he never would’ve had the chance to tell Castiel he how he felt about him. In this world, he was already dead before the morning it would’ve happened.  
  
He never even got to tell his own Cas he loved him one last time.  
  
He’s not going to let this chance go now.  
  
“I love you too, Cas,” he whispers.  
  
And he means it, with his entire being. This may not be the Castiel he fell in love with, but he’s still Cas, in every way that counts, and Dean _still loves him_ , all the same. No matter what.  
  
“Dean…” Castiel smiles at that, soft and sad, full of regret for the life they never had together, the life they still could’ve made together, if they’d had the chance. Dean swoops down to press their lips together, sharing his regret, saying his goodbyes. It's their first kiss, as well as their last, and Castiel sobs into it, finally finding the forgiveness he'd been searching for – redemption – at the very end.  
  
“Shut your eyes, Dean,” Castiel whispers when they pull apart, already beginning to glow. Dean nods, his vision blurring with tears and light, so bright, that he finally has no choice but to close his eyes against it.  
  
And then, Castiel is gone.  
  
Everyone is gone.  
  
And Dean finds himself empty-handed and alone, kneeling on unforgiving concrete in the middle of a familiar street in Kansas City, surrounded by ramshackle buildings and streets littered with rubble and debris.  
  
Dean screams. He screams, and screams, sobbing inconsolably until his lungs ache and his throat is hoarse. He wishes for the terrible numbness he felt after watching Castiel die the first time, anything other than this furious anguish he feels now. It’s too cruel. Too cruel to play this kind of joke on him. To give him hope for a second chance, only to rip it away again before it’s barely bloomed. Too cruel to make him watch Castiel die not once, but _twice._  
  
Maybe it would’ve been better if he’d just kept his mouth shut, never tried to convince Castiel who he was, and that they loved each other. Or even better, maybe he should’ve just let his Cas kill him the first time, in the crypt, before they were ever in love at all. Anything, _anything_ but this.  
  
Dean screams, and screams. And afterwards, when he’s exhausted and gasping for breath, he realizes what a dangerous mistake he’s made.  
  
He’s been screaming his location to anyone and everyone, in an unknown and potentially hostile environment. But by the time that sinks in, it’s too late. He can already hear the sounds of shuffling in the alley behind him. And when Dean turns, he barely has a split-second to make out the word “CROATOAN” spray-painted across the alley wall, before they attack.  
  
He runs. Dodging overturned cars and rubble, he quickly realizes that the destruction around him doesn’t seem like the fallout of an explosion, but more like the aftermath of a riot, and he wonders just how dangerous his pursuers are. Weaving past a particularly tall pile of debris, he ducks down an alleyway, hoping to lose them. But he doesn’t get very far before he finds himself trapped by wire fencing, his pursuers rapidly closing in on him.  
  
Then, when he thinks it can’t get any worse, a large military truck rolls up on the other side of the fence, full of soldiers with guns, and they begin firing indiscriminately, sending bullets flying towards Dean as well as his attackers. He instinctively hunches in on himself, making a smaller target, but it doesn’t make a difference. He’s completely exposed. A bullet rips into his side and he hits the ground, pain lancing through his body.  
  
As his vision slowly greys out, it seems like the sound of gunfire gets louder, doubling in volume and ringing all around him, from every direction – but he thinks he hears his brother’s voice, calling his name. He can almost see Sam’s face hovering above him… right before the world goes black.

  
  
_Castiel dreams of a world where Lucifer uses Sam’s mutation for something else entirely. His goals are the same – chaos and destruction and the utter annihilation of the human race – but he goes about it very, very differently. He uses Sam’s blood to instead create a virus – the Croatoan virus – mutating the blood of any infected human until they develop abilities of their own, becoming mutants themselves. The panic and violence that results quickly spreads worldwide, the handful of mutant factions expanding as the mutant population does._  
  
_To counter the chaos, Dean Winchester goes to the remnants of the world’s governments, offering his own blood to create a cure. It works, and many are treated. But Lucifer’s factions terrorize the treatment centers, attack the manufacturing labs, and blow up distribution depots, until the government decides to weaponize the cure, developing guns for it._  
  
_When the Resistance learns of Lucifer’s plan to attack the main lab where Dean has gone to allow government scientists to map his blood genome, they rush to his rescue. But when government soldiers arrive amidst the fighting, they shoot indiscriminately, using the cure against any mutant they see, regardless of whether they are allied with the Resistance or Lucifer’s forces._  
  
_Castiel is hit with the cure. So he is powerless to do anything but watch as Lucifer brings down the facility. Powerless to save Dean._  
  
_While Castiel still remembers the many worlds he dreamt of before then, this one is the dream – the nightmare – that Castiel never wakes from. The one he can never escape. Because this is the world he actually lives in._

 


	7. epilogue

  


 

  
When Dean comes to, he’s lying on the floor in the back of a large truck, bandaged on both the front and back of his body, which means the bullet went clean through, without hitting anything vital. He got lucky.  
  
He groans as he pushes himself up off the truck floor, looking around for who to thank for the save, when he freezes entirely.  
  
“…Sammy?” Dean breathes, staring at his brother in shock.  
  
“Dean,” Sam exhales in relief.  
  
Dean _wasn’t_ imagining things. He really _did_ see his brother before he blacked out. Sam saved him!   
  
Dean lurches towards his brother, and Sam meets him halfway, hugging him so tight he can barely breathe. Or maybe it’s because his throat’s tight for other reasons.   
  
“You’re alive,” he croaks, holding on to his brother just a little bit tighter, ignoring the pain it sends through wounds.  
  
“It’s really you,” Sam gasps. “I didn’t want to get my hopes up when Chuck saw you coming, but, God, you’re really here,” he says, pulling away to grin at Dean.  
  
“So, you know that I’m from…”  
  
“A parallel universe?” Sam finishes. “Yeah, Dean. But you’re here, and alive, and that’s better than what we had before.” Sam shrugs helplessly. “You’re still my brother, and that’s all that really matters to me,” he says, smiling at Dean with absolute surety in his eyes.  
  
“Okay. Okay, Sammy,” Dean nods, smiling back. He's more than willing to accept that. _The same at heart._ Dean knows that now. “But you’re gonna have to catch me up on a lot of things around here,” he says. “For starters, who were those freaks back there?”  
  
“We call them Croats,” Sam answers grimly. “Humans turned into mutants with the Croatoan virus. Which Lucifer made from my blood.”  
  
“Son of a bitch,” Dean curses, swiping a hand down his face in disbelief.  
  
“We had a cure, which was made from _your_ blood, but it ran out,” Sam explains, and Dean hears the unsaid ‘when you died’ tacked on the end of that sentence. “But now that you’re here, we have a chance to change things,” he says, grinning again. “So you’re not allowed to die on me again, you got that?”  
  
“Ain’t got no plans to be anywhere else,” Dean replies, grinning back.  
  
“Good,” Sam laughs. “Now rest. We’ve got a while before we get there.”  
  
“Get where?” Dean asks.  
  
“Home.” Sam smiles.  


  
  
“Dean? Dean, wake up. We’re here,” Sam murmurs, squeezing his shoulder. Dean pulls himself off the truck floor with a groan, looking out the window to see a familiar sign on the side of the road. Though the fences are a lot less guarded than he remembers.  
  
“Camp Chitaqua,” Dean says.  
  
“We’ve got a lot of survivors here. Brace yourself. A lot of people are going to be glad to see you,” Sam says. The truck finally rolls to a stop, and Sam opens the door, hopping out to help Dean down. It takes a few moments for Dean’s eyes to adjust to the sunlight, but when they do, he sees a familiar face standing at the forefront of a small group of people, gaping at him in amazement. _The same at heart_.  
  
“Oh my god, it really happened. You’re really here.”  
  
“Yeah, Chuck,” Dean smiles. “Thanks for sending them to get me.”  
  
“No problem,” Chuck smiles back. “It’s _really_ good to see you.”  
  
“Thank, man,” Dean replies, squeezing his shoulder. But then he sees another familiar face, storming up to him through the gathering crowd. _The same at heart_.  
  
“Not again,” Dean groans.  
  
“Who the hell do you think you are?” Risa yells, swinging at him.  
  
“Woah, woah, Risa!” Sam jumps in between them. “It’s really him! It’s Dean!”  
  
“ _What?_ ” she gasps in disbelief. Sam pulls her aside, explaining the situation to her in low tones as she gives Dean the stink-eye.   
  
But it’s when Sam gets to the part about parallel universes that Dean can’t wait any longer. He has to know.  
  
“Hey, Chuck?” he asks, pulling the man aside. “Is… Cas still here?”  
  
“Yeah,” Chuck replies, “I don’t think Cas is going anywhere,” he grins, looking off into the distance. Dean follows his gaze, and finds what he’s looking for, standing on the front steps of a cabin, _the same at heart_ , and _alive_ , staring back at him with shock and hope and desperation in his eyes.  
  
The next moment, Castiel is launching himself down the stairs, running through the crowd of people, right into Dean’s arms…  
  
_And there is a kiss, the kind of which is so profound, that it can change the entire course of your existence. For it is so powerful, that when it happens, all else fades away – time, space, the Universe and everything you think you know about the world you live in. So perfect, that not only does it steal your breath away, but your heart, your mind, your very soul – all are lost to it. Its purity strips away all walls and defences, all lies and facades, all fear and anger and pain, until only truth remains – the essence of who you are and the certainty of knowing. And in this truth there is freedom to be found, joy in sharing it completely with another, and the bliss of becoming more, together._  
  
_If there is one, inalterable truth that Castiel knows, across worlds and universes, at the end of every diverging road or at the center of every repeating pattern, it’s that no matter what, he will always love Dean Winchester._

 

  
_~ fin_

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **revised 17/10/14:** I went back and cleaned up a few things as my original posting was a bit rushed to meet my DCBB deadline :s
> 
> **Author's Thanks** : First off, I want to thank my beta balder12, for doing such a spectacular job, as always. And especially for accommodating my hectic schedule this year and working so quickly. I doubly appreciate it! And there will be Sevin rewards as usual too ;)
> 
> Another thanks to whiskygalore for putting up with my whining in the early days of writing this fic, and helping me pep myself up to work on it. Writing has been hard this year, I needed all the help I could get lol.
> 
> And finally, huge thanks to my artist Heather, for being so cooperative and open to ideas, and fleshing them out so quickly! Wow! And I was really lucky that her muse was in the mood to experiment with comic-style art, for one thing because X-men was originally a comic and it just seemed a perfect fit, but also because what she came up with is so beautiful! Please [go check it out](http://swordofthehost.livejournal.com/1181.html)!


End file.
